FOOTPRINTS 


STEWART  EDWARD  WHITE 


l  4  -*»*• 


Those  were  the  first  wild  lions  I  had  ever  seen 


THE  LAND 
OF  FOOTPRINTS 

BY 

STEWART  EDWARD  WHITE 


ILLUSTRATED  FROM  PHOTOGRAPHS  BY  THE  AUTHOR 
AND  TWO  DRAWINGS  BY  PHILIP  R.  GOODWIN 


GARDEN  CITY  NEW  YORK 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 
1912 


Copyright,  1912,  by 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

All  rights    reserved,   including  that  qf 

translation  into  foreign  languages, 

including  the  Scandinavian 


SK 

2,55 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    ON  BOOKS  OF  ADVENTURE    .....  3 

II.    AFRICA n 

III.  THE  CENTRAL  PLATEAU 31 

IV.  THE  FIRST  CAMP      .......  35 

V.     MEMBA  SASA 43 

VI.    THE  FIRST  GAME  CAMP 62 

VII.    ON  THE  MARCH 75 

VIII.    THE   RIVER  JUNGLE 89 

IX.    THE  FIRST  LION 103 

X.    LIONS 123 

XL    LIONS  AGAIN 137 

XII.     MORE  LIONS 144 

XIII.  ON  THE  MANAGING  OF  A  SAFARI        ...  162 

XIV,  A  DAY  ON  THE  ISIOLA 176 

XV.    THE  LION  DANCE 190 

XVI.    FUNDI 196 

XVII.    NATIVES      .             210 

XVIII.    IN  THE  JUNGLE 

(a)  The  March  to  Meru     ....  223 

(b)  Meru 234 

(c)  The  Chiefs 240 

(d)  Out  the  Other  Side       ....  264 
XIX.    THE  TANA  RIVER 271 

XX.    DIVERS  ADVENTURES  ALONG  THE  TANA  .      .  286 

XXL    THE  RHINOCEROS >  297 

XXII     THE  RHINOCEROS  (Continued)     .      .       .      .  313 

XXIII.  THE  HIPPO  POOL 321 

XXIV.  THE  BUFFALO     ......  .335 


483386 


CONTENTS 

XXV.    THE  BUFFALO  (Continued) 348 

XXVI.    JUJA 370 

XXVII.    A  VISIT  AT  JUJA 376 

XXVIII.    A  RESIDENCE  AT  JUJA 388 

XXIX.    CHAPTER  THE  LAST 406 

APPENDIX  I 407 

APPENDIX  II       ........  408 

APPENDIX  III 409 

APENDIX  IV     The  American  in  Africa     .       .  419 

APENDIXV    The  American  in  Africa      .      .  435 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"These  were  the  first  wild  lions  I  had  ever  seen"     .      Frontispiece 

FACING  PACK 

"They  sported  a  great  variety  of  garments" 38 

"M'ganga,  the  headman,  tall,  fierce,  big  framed  and  bony"  38 

On  the  march 39 

"The  blankets  they  were  twisting  most  ingeniously  into 

turbans" 39 

"The  great  tangled  forests  themselves" 42 

"Behind  us  marched  the  four  gunbearers ;  then  the  four  syces"  43 

Memba  Sasa 50 

Chanler's  reedbuck '. 51 

Jackson's  hartebeeste 62 

The  oryx 63 

"The  motionless  and  picturesque  figure  of  Saa-sita  (six 

o'clock)" 63 

Notata  gazelle 64 

"Tall,  beautiful  falls,  plunging  several  hundred  feet  into  the 

forest" 65 

"They  broke  through  a  pass  " 80 

"In  an  open  grove  of  acacias,  we  pitched  our  tents"  ...  81 
"A  great  deal  of  time  they  spent  before  their  tiny  fires 

roasting  meat  and  talking" 84 

"Distributing  ''potio'  or  rations  to  the  men" 84 

On  the  Northern  Guaso  Nyero  River 85 

"At  this  point  far  up  in  its  youth,  it  was  a  friendly  river"  .  85 

vii 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

The  exact  spot  where  the  lioness  fell,  taken  from  the  exact 

spot  we  crouched  when  we  shot  her 116 

"I  placed  the  little  gold  bead  of  my  405  Winchester  where  I 

thought  it  would  do  the  most  good" 117 

The  lioness  that  charged  when  I  had  only  the  Springfield 

and  no  gunbearer.  Also  Mavrouki  and  Memba  Sasa  .  146 
The  lion  we  killed  out  of  the  band  of  eight  after  following 

them  for  hours 147 

The  safari  lined  up  for  roll  call 1 58 

"With  these  three  raw  materials,  M'ganga  and  his  men  set 

to  work" 159 

The  maneless  lion  killed  on  the  Isiola 180 

Grevy's  Zebra 181 

"That  wonderful  phenomenon,  the  gathering  of  the  carrion 

birds" 188 

Fundi 189 

"In  a  very  short  time,  we  had  left  the  plains,  and  were 

adrift  in  an  ocean  of  grass" 232 

"By  half  an  hour  we  had  acquired  a  long  retinue"  ....  232 

"The  native  quarters  lying  in  the  hollow" 233 

"In  short,  it  was  a  genuine,  scientific,  well-kept  golf  course"  233 

Meru.  In  the  native  quarters.  Women  grinding  corn .  .  .  244 
"It  resembles  the  rolling,  beautiful  downs  of  a  first-class 

country  club" ' 245 

Meru 245 

"They  were  evil  looking  savages" .252 

"It  was  as  fine  a  panoramic  view  as  one  could  imagine"  .  .253 
"Where  we  could  pitch  camp — generally  this  was  atop  a 

ridge" 253 

M'booley  and  two  of  his  wives 256 

"They  were  dressed  in  grass  skirts  and  carried  long  shields"  256 

viii 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

''On  the  slopes  and  in  the  bottoms  were  patches  of  magnifi- 
cent forest" 257 

"In  fact,  the  young  ladies  were  quite  coy  and  flirtatious"     .  260 

Totos 261 

"The  savages  commenced  to   drift  in,  very  haughty  and 

arrogant.     They  were  fully  armed" 261 

"These  chickens  rode  atop  the  loads" 268 

The  Tana  River 269 

Bushbuck 272 

A  crocodile 273 

Ward's  zebra 290 

"The  plains  fire — behind  it  was  blackened  soil,  and  above  it 

rolled  dense  clouds  of  smoke" 291 

"These  wart-hogs  are  most  comical  brutes" 292 

A  camp  on  the  Thika  River — a  tributary  of  the  Tana.    .     .  293 

"The  lioness  was  an  unusually  large  one" 292 

"At  twelve  feet  from  the  wounded  beast  we  stopped" .     .     .  293 

Rhinoceros  charging 302 

"The  beast's  companion  refused  to  leave  the  dead  body"     .  302 

"The  rhinoceros  ...  is  one  of  Africa's  unbelievable  animals"  303 

"At  first  the  traveller  is  pleased  and  curious  over  rhinoceros"  306 

"And  departed  over  the  hill" 306 

"At  the  last  camp  we  were  in  nothing  but  palms"  ....  307 
"The  babies  are  astonishing  and  amusing  creatures"    .     .     .318 

"Descended  the  steep  bank  to  the  river's  edge" 318 

"The  Hippo  pool  on  the  Tana" 319 

"Funny  Face" 324 

At  the  Hippo  Pool 325 

The  dik-dik — smallest  of  antelope 332 

Typical  African  ant  hills       333 

ix 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"The  name  of  the  valley  was  Lengeetoto" 352 

The  big  buffalo  as  he  finally  fell 353 

The  head  of  the  big  buffalo  that  nearly  got  Billy  ....  353 

Herds  of  game  at  Juja 372 

"In  the  river  bottom  land  ...  is  a  very  extensive  vegetable 

and  fruit  garden" 373 

"Donya  Sabuk — the  Mountain  of  Buffaloes — is  the  only 

landmark" .  384 

"Juja  Farm" 384 

"McMillan  and  the  Abyssinian  mules" 385 

"Squatting  on  their  heels  and  pulling  methodically  but 

slowly  at  the  weeds" 400 

"Ostriches  at  Long  Juja" 401 

At  Long  Juja — a  strictly  utilitarian  farm 401 


THE  LAND  OF  FOOTPRINTS 


THE 
LAND    OF    FOOTPRINTS 

i 

ON  BOOKS  OF  ADVENTURE 

BOOKS  of  sporting,    travel,   and    adventure  in 
countries  little  known  to  the  average  reader 
naturally  fall  in  two  classes  —  neither,  with  a  very 
few  exceptions,  of  great  value.     One  class  is  perhaps 
the  logical  result  of  the  other. 

Of  the  first  type  is  the  book  that  is  written  to  make 
the  most  of  far  travels,  to  extract  from  adventure 
the  last  thrill,  to  impress  the  awestricken  reader 
with  a  full  sense  of  the  danger  and  hardship  the 
writer  has  undergone.  Thus,  if  the  latter  takes  out 
quite  an  ordinary  routine  permit  to  go  into  certain 
districts,  he  makes  the  most  of  travelling  in  "closed 
territory,"  implying  that  he  has  obtained  an  especial 
privilege,  and  has  penetrated  where  few  have  gone 
before  him.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  permit  is 
issued  merely  that  the  authorities  may  keep  track 
of  who  is  where.  Anybody  can  get  one.  This  class 
of  writer  tells  of  shooting  beasts  at  customary  ranges 

3 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

of  four  and  five  hundred  yards.  I  remember  one  in 
especial  who  airily  and  as  a  matter  of  fact  killed  all 
his  antelope  at  such  ranges.  Most  men  have  shot 
occasional  beasts  at  a  quarter  mile  or  so,  but  not 
airily  nor  as  a  matter  of  fact:  rather  with  thanks- 
giving and  a  certain  amount  of  surprise.  The 
gentleman  of  whom  I  speak  mentioned  getting 
an  eland  at  seven  hundred  and  fifty  yards.  By 
chance  I  happened  to  mention  this  to  a  native 
Africander. 

"Yes,"  said  he,  "I  remember  that;  I  was  there." 

This  interested  me  —  and  I  said  so. 

"He  made  a  long  shot,"  said  I. 

"A  good  long  shot,"  replied  the  Africander. 

"Did  you  pace  the  distance?" 

He  laughed.  "No,"  said  he,  "the  old  chap  was 
immensely  delighted.  'Eight  hundred  yards  if  it 
was  an  inch!'  he  cried." 

"How  far  was  it?" 

"About  three  hundred  and  fifty.  But  it  was  a  long 
shot,  all  right." 

And  it  was!  Three  hundred  and  fifty  yards  is  a 
very  long  shot.  It  is  over  four  city  blocks  —  New 
York  size.  But  if  you  talk  often  enough  and  glibly 
enough  of  "four  and  five  hundred  yards,"  it  does  not 
sound  like  much,  does  it? 

The  same  class  of  writer  always  gets  all  the  thrills. 

4 


ON  BOOKS  OF  ADVENTURE 

He  speaks  of  "blanched  cheeks,"  of  the  "thrilling 
suspense,"  and  so  on  down  the  gamut  of  the  shilling 
shocker.  His  stuff  makes  good  reading:  there  is  no 
doubt  of  that.  The  spellbound  public  likes  it,  and 
to  that  extent  it  has  fulfilled  its  mission.  Also,  the 
reader  believes  it  to  the  letter  —  why  should  he  not? 
Only  there  is  this  curious  result:  he  carries  away  in  his 
mind  the  impression  of  unreality,  of  a  country  im- 
possible to  be  understood  and  gauged  and  savoured 
by  the  ordinary  human  mental  equipment.  It  is 
interesting,  just  as  are  historical  novels,  or  the 
copper-riveted  heroes  of  modern  fiction,  but  it  has  no 
real  relation  with  human  life.  In  the  last  analysis 
the  inherent  untruth  of  the  thing  forces  itself  on 
him.  He  believes,  but  he  does  not  apprehend;  he 
acknowledges  the  fact,  but  he  cannot  grasp  its  human 
quality.  The  affair  is  interesting,  but  it  is  more  or 
less  concocted  of  pasteboard  for  his  amusement. 
Thus  essential  truth  asserts  its  right. 

All  this,  you  must  understand,  is  probably  not  a 
deliberate  attempt  to  deceive.  It  is  merely  the 
recrudescence  under  the  stimulus  of  a  brand-new 
environment  of  the  boyish  desire  to  be  a  hero.  When 
a  man  jumps  back  into  the  Pleistocene  he  digs  up 
some  of  his  ancestors'  cave-qualities.  Among  these 
is  the  desire  for  personal  adornment.  His  modern 
development  of  taste  precludes  skewers  in  the  ears 

5 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

and  polished  wire  around  the  neck;  so  he  adorns 
himself  in  qualities  instead.  It  is  quite  an  engaging 
and  diverting  trait  of  character.  The  attitude  of 
mind  it  both  presupposes  and  helps  to  bring  about 
is  too  complicated  for  my  brief  analysis.  In  itself 
it  is  no  more  blameworthy  than  the  small  boy's 
pretence  at  Indians  in  the  back  yard;  and  no  more 
praiseworthy  than  infantile  decoration  with  feathers. 
In  its  results,  however,  we  are  more  concerned. 
Probably  each  of  us  has  his  mental  picture  that 
passes  as  a  symbol  rather  than  an  idea  of  the  different 
continents.  This  is  usually  a  single  picture  —  a 
deep  river,  with  forest,  hanging  snaky  vines,  ana- 
condas and  monkeys  for  the  east  coast  of  South 
America,  for  example.  It  is  built  up  in  youth  by 
chance  reading  and  chance  pictures,  and  does  as  well 
as  a  pink  place  on  the  map  to  stand  for  a  part  of  the 
world  concerning  which  we  know  nothing  at  all.  As 
time  goes  on  we  extend,  expand  and  modify  this 
picture  in  the  light  of  what  knowledge  we  may  ac- 
quire. So  the  reading  of  many  books  modifies  and 
expands  our  first  crude  notions  of  Equatorial  Africa. 
And  the  result  is,  if  we  read  enough  of  the  sort  I 
describe  above,  we  build  the  idea  of  an  exciting 
dangerous,  extra-human  continent,  visited  by  half- 
real  people  of  the  texture  of  the  historical-fiction 
hero,  who  have  strange  and  interesting  adventures 

6 


ON  BOOKS  OF  ADVENTURE 

which  we  could  not  possibly  imagine  happening  to 
ourselves. 

This  type  of  book  is  directly  responsible  for  the 
second  sort.  The  author  of  this  is  deadly  afraid  of 
being  thought  to  brag  of  his  adventures.  He  feels 
constantly  on  him  the  amusedly  critical  eye  of  the 
old-timer.  When  he  comes  to  describe  the  first  time 
a  rhino  dashed  in  his  direction,  he  remembers  that 
old  hunters,  who  have  been  so  charged  hundreds  of 
times,  may  read  the  book.  Suddenly,  in  that  light, 
the  adventure  becomes  pitifully  unimportant.  He 
sets  down  the  fact  that  "we  met  a  rhino  that  turned 
a  bit  nasty,  but  after  a  shot  in  the  shoulder  decided 
to  leave  us  alone."  Throughout  he  keeps  before  his 
mind's  eye  the  imaginary  audience  of  those  who  have 
done.  He  writes  for  them,  to  please  them,  to  con- 
vince them  that  he  is  not  "swelled  head,"  nor 
"cocky,"  nor  "fancies  himself,"  nor  thinks  he  has 
done,  been,  or  seen  anything  wonderful.  It  is  a 
good,  healthy  frame  of  mind  to  be  in;  but  it,  no  more 
than  the  other  type,  can  produce  books  that  leave 
on  the  minds  of  the  general  public  any  impression  of 
a  country  in  relation  to  a  real  human  being. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  same  trouble  is  at  the 
bottom  of  both  failures.  The  adventure  writer,  half 
unconsciously  perhaps,  has  been  too  much  occupied 
in  play-acting  himself  into  half-forgotten  boyhood 

7 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

heroics.  The  more  modest  man,  with  even  more 
self-consciousness,  has  been  thinking  of  how  he  is 
going  to  appear  in  the  eyes  of  the  expert.  Both  have 
thought  of  themselves  before  their  work.  This 
aspect  of  the  matter  would  probably  vastly  astonish 
the  modest  writer. 

If,  then,  one  is  to  formulate  an  ideal  toward  which 
to  write,  he  might  express  it  exactly  in  terms  of  man 
and  environment.  Those  readers  desiring  sheer 
exploration  can  get  it  in  any  library:  those  in  search 
of  sheer  romantic  adventure  can  purchase  plenty  of 
it  at  any  book-stall.  But  the  majority  want  some- 
thing different  from  either  of  these.  They  want,  first 
of  all,  to  know  what  the  country  is  like  —  not  in 
vague  and  grandiose  "word  paintings,"  nor  in  strange 
and  foreign  sounding  words  and  phrases,  but  in 
comparison  with  something  they  know.  What  is  it 
nearest  like  —  Arizona  ?  Surrey  ?  Upper  New  York  ? 
Canada?  Mexico?  Or  is  it  totally  different  from 
anything,  as  is  the  Grand  Canon?  When  you 
look  out  from  your  camp  —  any  one  camp  —  how  far 
do  you  see,  and  what  do  you  see?  —  mountains  in 
the  distance,  or  a  screen  of  vines  or  bamboo  near  at 
hand,  or  what?  When  you  get  up  in  the  morning, 
what  is  the  first  thing  to  do?  What  does  a  rhino 
look  like,  where  he  lives,  and  what  did  you  do  the 
first  time  one  came  at  you  ?  I  don't  want  you  to  tell 

8 


ON  BOOKS  OF  ADVENTURE 

me  as  though  I  were  either  an  old  hunter  or  an 
admiring  audience,  or  as  though  you  were  afraid 
somebody  might  think  you  were  making  too  much  of 
the  matter.  I  want  to  know  how  you  really  felt. 
Were  you  scared  or  nervous?  or  did  you  become 
cool?  Tell  me  frankly  just  how  it  was,  so  I  can  see 
the  thing  as  happening  to  a  common  everyday  human 
being.  Then,  even  at  second-hand  and  at  ten 
thousand  miles  distance,  I  can  enjoy  it  actually, 
humanly,  even  though  vicariously,  speculating  a  bit 
over  my  pipe  as  to  how  I  would  have  liked  it  myself. 

Obviously,  to  write  such  a  book  the  author  must 
at  the  same  time  sink  his  ego  and  exhibit  frankly 
his  personality.  The  paradox  in  this  is  only  ap- 
parent. He  must  forget  either  to  strut  or  to  blush 
with  diffidence.  Neither  audience  should  be  for- 
gotten, and  neither  should  be  exclusively  addressed. 
Never  should  he  lose  sight  of  the  wholesome  fact 
that  old  hunters  are  to  read  and  to  weigh;  never 
should  he  for  a  moment  slip  into  the  belief  that  he  is 
justified  in  addressing  the  expert  alone.  His  atti- 
tude should  be  that  many  men  know  more  and  have 
done  more  than  he,  but  that  for  one  reason  or 
another  these  men  are  not  ready  to  transmit  their 
knowledge  and  experience. 

To  set  down  the  formulation  of  an  ideal  is  one 
thing:  to  fulfil  it  is  another.  In  the  following  pages 

9 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

I  cannot  claim  a  fulfilment,  but  only  an  attempt. 
The  foregoing  dissertation  must  be  considered  not 
as  a  promise,  but  as  an  explanation.  No  one  knows 
better  than  I  how  limited  my  African  experience  is, 
both  in  time  and  extent,  bounded  as  it  is  by  East 
Equatorial  Africa  and  a  year.  Hundreds  of  men 
are  better  qualified  than  myself  to  write  just  this 
book;  but  unfortunately  they  will  not  do  it. 


II 

AFRICA 

IN  LOOKING  back  on  the  multitudinous  pictures 
that  the  word  Africa  bids  rise  in  my  memory, 
four  stand  out  more  distinctly  than  the  others. 
Strangely  enough,  these  are  by  no  means  all  pictures 
of  average  country  —  the  sort  of  thing  one  would 
describe  as  typical.  Perhaps,  in  a  way,  they  sym- 
bolize more  the  spirit  of  the  country  to  me,  for 
certainly  they  represent  but  a  small  minority  of  its 
infinitely  varied  aspects.  But  since  we  must  make 
a  start  somewhere,  and  since  for  some  reason  these 
four  crowd  most  insistently  in  the  recollection,  it 
might  be  well  to  begin  with  them. 

Our  camp  was  pitched  under  a  single  large  mi- 
mosa tree  near  the  edge  of  a  deep  and  narrow  ravine 
down  which  a  stream  flowed.  A  semicircle  of  low 
mountains  hemmed  us  in  at  the  distance  of  several 
miles.  The  other  side  of  the  semicircle  was  occupied 
by  the  upthrow  of  a  low  rise  blocking  off  an  horizon 
at  its  nearest  point  but  a  few  hundred  yards  away. 
Trees  marked  the  course  of  the  stream;  low  scattered 

ii 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

bushes  alternated  with  open  plain.  The  grass  grew 
high.  We  had  to  cut  it  out  to  make  camp. 
,  Nothing  indicated  that  we  were  otherwise  situated 
than  in  a  very  pleasant,  rather  wide  grass  valley  in 
the  embrace  of  the  mountains.  Only  a  walk  of  a 
few  hundred  yards  atop  the  upthrow  of  the  low  rise 
revealed  the  fact  that  it  was  in  reality  the  lip  of  a 
bench,  and  that  beyond  it  the  country  fell  away  in 
sheer  cliffs  whose  ultimate  drop  was  some  fifteen 
hundred  feet.  One  could  sit  atop  and  dangle  his 
feet  over  unguessed  abysses. 

For  a  week  we  had  been  hunting  for  greater  kudu. 
Each  day  Memba  Sasa  and  I  went  in  one  direction, 
while  Mavrouki  and  Kongoni  took  another  line.  We 
looked  carefully  for  signs,  but  found  none  fresher 
than  the  month  before.  Plenty  of  other  game  made 
the  country  interesting;  but  we  were  after  a  shy  and 
valuable  prize,  so  dared  not  shoot  lesser  things.  At 
last,  at  the  end  of  the  week,  Mavrouki  came  in  with 
a  tale  of  eight  lions  seen  in  the  low  scrub  across  the 
stream.  The  kudu  business  was  about  finished,  as 
far  as  this  place  went,  so  we  decided  to  take  a  look  for 
the  lions. 

We  ate  by  lantern  and  at  the  first  light  were 
ready  to  start.  But  at  that  moment,  across  the 
slope  of  the  rim  a  few  hundred  yards  away,  appeared 
a  small  group  of  sing-sing.  These  are  a  beautiful 

12 


AFRICA 

big  beast,  with  widespread  horns,  proud  and  won- 
derful, like  Landseer's  stags,  and  I  wanted  one  of 
them  very  much.  So  I  took  the  Springfield,  and 
dropped  behind  the  line  of  some  bushes.  The  stalk 
was  of  the  ordinary  sort.  One  has  to  remain  behind 
cover,  to  keep  down  wind,  to  make  no  quick  move- 
ments. Sometimes  this  takes  considerable  manoeu- 
vring; especially,  as  now,  in  the  case  of  a  small  band 
fairly  well  scattered  out  for  feeding.  Often  after 
one  has  succeeded  in  placing  them  all  safely  behind 
the  scattered  cover,  a  straggler  will  step  out  into 
view.  Then  the  hunter  must  stop  short,  must 
slowly,  oh  very,  very  slowly,  sink  down  out  of  sight; 
so  slowly,  in  fact,  that  he  must  not  seem  to  move, 
but  rather  to  melt  imperceptibly  away.  Then  he 
must  take  up  his  progress  at  a  lower  plane  of  eleva- 
tion. Perhaps  he  needs  merely  to  stoop;  or  he  may 
crawl  on  hands  and  knees;  or  he  may  lie  flat  and 
hitch  himself  forward  by  his  toes,  pushing  his  gun 
ahead.  If  one  of  the  beasts  suddenly  looks  very 
intently  in  his  direction,  he  must  freeze  into  no 
matter  what  uncomfortable  position,  and  so  remain 
an  indefinite  time.  Even  a  hotel-bred  child  to  whom 
you  have  rashly  made  advances  stares  no  longer  nor 
more  intently  than  a  buck  that  cannot  make  you  out. 
I  had  no  great  difficulty  with  this  lot,  but  slipped 
up  quite  successfully  to  within  one  hundred  and 

13 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

fifty  yards.  There  I  raised  my  head  behind  a  little 
bush  to  look.  Three  does  grazed  nearest  me,  their 
coats  rough  against  the  chill  of  early  morning.  Up 
the  slope  were  two  more  does  and  two  funny,  fuzzy 
babies.  An  immature  buck  occupied  the  extreme 
left  with  three  young  ladies.  But  the  big  buck,  the 
leader,  the  boss  of  the  lot,  I  could  not  see  anywhere. 
Of  course  he  must  be  about,  and  I  craned  my  neck 
cautiously  here  and  there  trying  to  make  him  out. 

Suddenly,  with  one  accord,  all  turned  and  began 
to  trot  rapidly  away  to  the  right,  their  heads  high. 
In  the  strange  manner  of  animals,  they  had  received 
telepathic  alarm,  and  had  instantly  obeyed.  Then 
beyond  and  far  to  the  right  I  at  last  saw  the  beast 
I  had  been  looking  for.  The  old  villain  had  been 
watching  me  all  the  time! 

The  little  herd  in  single  file  made  their  way  rapidly 
along  the  face  of  the  rise.  They  were  headed  in  the 
direction  of  the  stream.  Now,  I  happened  to  know 
that  at  this  point  the  stream-canon  was  bordered 
by  sheer  cliffs.  Therefore,  the  sing-sing  must  round 
the  hill,  and  not  cross  the  stream.  By  running  to 
the  top  of  the  hill  I  might  catch  a  glimpse  of  them 
somewhere  below.  So  I  started  on  a  jog  trot,  trying 
to  hit  the  golden  mean  of  speed  that  would  still  leave 
me  breath  to  shoot.  This  was  an  affair  of  some 
nicety  in  the  tall  grass.  Just  before  I  reached  the 


AFRICA 

actual  slope,  however,  I  revised  my  schedule.  The 
reason  was  supplied  by  a  rhino  that  came  grunting 
to  his  feet  about  seventy  yards  away.  He  had  not 
seen  me,  and  he  had  not  smelled  me,  but  the  general 
disturbance  of  all  these  events  had  broken  into  his 
early  morning  nap.  He  looked  to  me  like  a  person 
who  is  cross  before  breakfast,  so  I  ducked  low  and  ran 
around  him.  The  last  I  saw  of  him  he  was  still 
standing  there,  quite  disgruntled,  and  evidently  in- 
tending to  write  to  the  directors  about  it. 

Arriving  at  the  top,  I  looked  eagerly  down.  The 
cliff  fell  away  at  an  impossible  angle,  but  sheer 
below  ran  out  a  narrow  bench  fifty  yards  wide. 
Around  the  point  of  the  hill  to  my  right  —  where  the 
herd  had  gone  —  a  game  trail  dropped  steeply  to 
this  bench.  I  arrived  just  in  time  to  see  the  sing- 
sing,  still  trotting,  file  across  the  bench  and  over  its 
edge,  on  some  other  invisible  game  trail,  to  continue 
their  descent  of  the  cliff.  The  big  buck  brought  up 
the  rear.  At  the  very  edge  he  came  to  a  halt,  and 
looked  back,  throwing  his  head  up  and  his  nose  out 
so  that  the  heavy  fur  on  his  neck  stood  forward  like 
a  ruff.  It  was  a  last  glimpse  of  him,  so  I  held  my 
little  best,  and  pulled  trigger. 

This  happened  to  be  one  of  those  shots  I  spoke  of 
—  which  the  perpetrator  accepts  with  a  thankful 
and  humble  spirit.  The  sing-sing  leaped  high  in  the 

IS 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

air  and  plunged  over  the  edge  of  the  bench.  I  sig- 
nalled the  camp  —  in  plain  sight  —  to  come  and  get 
the  head  and  meat,  and  sat  down  to  wait.  And  while 
waiting,  I  looked  out  on  a  scene  that  has  since  been 
to  me  one  of  my  four  symbolizations  of  Africa. 

The  morning  was  dull,  with  gray  clouds  through 
which  at  wide  intervals  streamed  broad  bands  of 
misty  light.  Below  me  the  cliff  fell  away  clear  to  a 
gorge  in  the  depths  of  which  flowed  a  river.  Then 
the  land  began  to  rise,  broken,  sharp,  tumbled, 
terrible,  tier  after  tier,  gorge  after  gorge,  one  twisted 
range  after  the  other,  across  a  breathlessly  immeasur- 
able distance.  The  prospect  was  full  of  shadows 
thrown  by  the  tumult  of  lava.  In  those  shadows 
one  imagined  stranger  abysses.  Far  down  to  the 
right  a  long  narrow  lake  inaugurated  a  flatter,  alkali- 
whitened  country  of  low  cliffs  in  long  straight  lines. 
Across  the  distances  proper  to  a  dozen  horizons  the 
tumbled  chaos  heaved  and  fell.  The  eye  sought 
rest  at  the  bounds  usual  to  its  accustomed  world  — 
and  went  on.  There  was  no  roundness  to  the  earth, 
no  grateful  curve  to  drop  this  great  fierce  country 
beyond  a  healing  horizon  out  of  sight.  The  im- 
mensity of  primal  space  was  in  it,  and  the  simplicity 
of  primal  things  —  rough,  unfinished,  full  of  mystery. 
There  was  no  colour.  The  scene  was  done  in  slate 
gray,  darkening  to  the  opaque  where  a  tiny  distant 

16 


AFRICA 

rain  squall  started;  lightening  in  the  nearer  shadows 
to  reveal  half-guessed  peaks;  brightening  unexpect- 
edly into  broad  short  bands  of  misty  gray  light 
slanting  from  the  gray  heavens  above  to  the  sombre 
tortured  immensity  beneath.  It  was  such  a  thing 
as  Gustave  Dore  might  have  imaged  to  serve  as 
abiding  place  for  the  fierce  chaotic  spirit  of  the 
African  wilderness. 

I  sat  there  for  some  time  hugging  my  knees,  wait- 
ing for  the  men  to  come.  The  tremendous  land- 
scape seemed  to  have  been  willed  to  immobility. 
The  rain  squalls  forty  miles  or  more  away  did  not 
appear  to  shift  their  shadows;  the  rare  slanting 
bands  of  light  from  the  clouds  were  as  constant  as 
though  they  were  falling  through  cathedral  windows. 
But  nearer  at  hand  other  things  were  forward.  The 
birds,  thousands  of  them,  were  doing  their  best  to 
cheer  things  up.  The  roucoulements  of  doves  rose 
from  the  bushes  down  the  face  of  the  cliffs;  the  bell 
bird  uttered  his  clear  ringing  note;  the  chime  bird 
gave  his  celebrated  imitation  of  a  really  gentlemanly 
sixty-horse  power  touring  car  hinting  you  out  of  the 
way  with  the  mellowness  of  a  chimed  horn;  the  bottle 
bird  poured  gallons  of  guggling  essence  of  happiness 
from  his  silver  jug.  From  the  direction  of  camp, 
evidently  jumped  by  the  boys,  a  steinbuck  loped 
gracefully,  pausing  every  few  minutes  to  look  back, 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

his  dainty  legs  tense,  his  sensitive  ears  pointed  toward 
the  direction  of  disturbance. 

And  now,  along  the  face  of  the  cliff,  I  began  to 
make  out  the  flashing  of  much  movement,  half 
glimpsed  through  the  bushes.  Soon  a  fine  old-man 
baboon,  his  tail  arched  after  the  dandified  fashion  of 
the  baboon  aristocracy,  stepped  out,  looked  around, 
and  bounded  forward.  Other  old  men  followed  him, 
and  then  the  young  men,  and  a  miscellaneous  lot  of 
half-grown  youngsters.  The  ladies  brought  up  the 
rear,  with  the  babies.  These  rode  their  mothers' 
backs,  clinging  desperately  while  they  leaped  along, 
for  all  the  world  like  the  pathetic  monkey  "jockeys" 
one  sees  strapped  to  the  backs  of  big  dogs  in  circuses. 
When  they  had  approached  to  within  fifty  yards,  I 
remarked  "hullo!"  to  them.  Instantly  they  all 
stopped.  Those  in  front  stood  up  on  their  hind 
legs;  those  behind  clambered  to  points  of  vantage 
on  rocks  and  the  tops  of  small  bushes.  They  all 
took  a  good  long  look  at  me.  Then  they  told  me 
what  they  thought  about  me  personally,  the  fact  of 
my  being  there,  and  the  rude  way  I  had  startled 
them.  Their  remarks  were  neither  complimentary 
nor  refined.  The  old  men,  in  especial,  got  quite 
profane,  and  screamed  excited  billingsgate.  Finally 
they  all  stopped  at  once,  dropped  on  all  fours,  and 
loped  away,  their  ridiculous  long  tails  curved  in  a 

18 


AFRICA 

half  arc.  Then  for  the  first  time  I  noticed  that,  under 
cover  of  the  insults,  the  women  and  children  had  silent- 
ly retired.  Once  more  I  was  left  to  the  familiar  gentle 
bird  calls,  and  the  vast  silence  of  the  wilderness  beyond. 

The  second  picture,  also,  was  a  view  from  a  height, 
but  of  a  totally  different  character.  It  was  also, 
perhaps,  more  typical  of  a  greater  part  of  East 
Equatorial  Africa.  Four  of  us  were  hunting  lions 
with  natives  —  both  wild  and  tame  —  and  a  scratch 
pack  of  dogs.  More  of  that  later.  We  had  rum- 
maged around  all  the  morning  without  any  results; 
and  now  at  noon  had  climbed  to  the  top  of  a  butte 
to  cat  lunch  and  look  abroad. 

Our  butte  ran  up  a  gentle  but  accelerating  slope 
to  a  peak  of  big  rounded  rocks  and  slabs  sticking  out 
boldly  from  the  soil  of  the  hill.  We  made  ourselves 
comfortable  each  after  his  fashion.  The  gunbearers 
leaned  against  rocks  and  rolled  cigarettes.  The 
savages  squatted  on  their  heels,  planting  their  spears 
ceremonially  in  front  of  them.  One  of  my  friends 
lay  on  his  back,  resting  a  huge  telescope  over  his 
crossed  feet.  With  this  he  purposed  seeing  any 
lion  that  moved  within  ten  miles.  None  of  the  rest 
of  us  could  ever  make  out  anything  through  the  fear- 
some weapon.  Therefore,  relieved  from  responsibility 
by  the  presence  of  this  Dreadnaught  of  a  'scope,  we 
loafed  and  looked  about  us.  This  is  what  we  saw: 

19 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

Mountains  at  our  backs,  of  course  —  at  some 
distance;  then  plains  in  long  low  swells  like  the  easy 
rise  and  fall  of  a  tropical  sea,  wave  after  wave,  and 
over  the  edge  of  the  world  beyond  a  distant  horizon. 
Here  and  there  on  this  plain,  single  hills  lay  becalmed, 
like  ships  at  sea;  some  peaked,  some  cliffed  like  buttes, 
some  long  and  low  like  the  hulls  of  battleships.  The 
brown  plain  flowed  up  to  wash  their  bases,  liquid 
as  the  sea  itself,  its  tides  rising  in  the  coves  of  the 
hills,  and  ebbing  in  the  valleys  between.  Near  at 
hand,  in  the  middle  distance,  far  away,  these  fleets 
of  the  plain  sailed,  until  at  last  hull-down  over  the 
horizon  their  topmasts  disappeared.  Above  them 
sailed  too  the  phantom  fleet  of  the  clouds,  shot  with 
light,  shining  like  silver,  airy  as  racing  yachts,  yet 
casting  here  and  there  exaggerated  shadows  be- 
low. 

The  sky  in  Africa  is  always  very  wide,  greater  than 
any  other  skies.  Between  horizon  and  horizon  is 
more  space  than  any  other  world  contains.  It  is  as 
though  the  cup  of  heaven  had  been  pressed  a  little 
flatter;  so  that  while  the  boundaries  have  widened, 
the  zenith,  with  its  flaming  sun,  has  come  nearer. 
And  yet  that  is  not  a  constant  quantity  either.  I 
have  seen  one  edge  of  the  sky  raised  straight  up  a 
few  million  miles,  as  though  some  one  had  stuck 
poles  under  its  corners,  so  that  the  western  heaven 

20 


AFRICA 

did  not  curve  cup-wise  over  to  the  horizon  at  all 
as  it  did  everywhere  else,  but  rather  formed  the 
proscenium  of  a  gigantic  stage.  On  this  stage  they 
had  piled  great  heaps  of  saffron  yellow  clouds,  and 
struck  shafts  of  yellow  light,  and  filled  the  spaces 
with  the  lurid  portent  of  a  storm  —  while  the  twenty 
thousand  foot  mountains  below,  crouched  whipped 
and  insignificant  to  the  earth. 

We  sat  atop  our  butte  for  an  hour  while  H.  looked 
through  his  'scope.  After  the  soft  silent  immensity 
of  the  earth,  running  away  to  infinity,  with  its  low 
waves,  and  its  scattered  fleet  of  hills,  it  was  with 
difficulty  that  we  brought  our  gaze  back  to  details 
and  to  things  near  at  hand.  Directly  below  us  we 
could  make  out  many  different-hued  specks.  Look- 
ing closely,  we  could  see  that  those  specks  were  game 
animals.  They  fed  here  and  there  in  bands  of  from 
ten  to  two  hundred,  with  valleys  and  hills  between. 
Within  the  radius  of  the  eye  they  moved,  nowhere 
crowded  in  big  herds,  but  everywhere  present.  A 
band  of  zebras  grazed  the  side  of  one  of  the  earth 
waves,  a  group  of  gazelles  walked  on  the  skyline, 
a  herd  of  kongoni  rested  in  the  hollow  between.  On 
the  next  rise  was  a  similar  grouping;  across  the 
valley  a  new  variation.  As  far  as  the  eye  could 
strain  its  powers  it  could  make  out  more  and  ever 
more  beasts.  I  took  up  my  field  glasses,  and  brought 

21 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

them  all  to  within  a  sixth  of  the  distance.  After 
amusing  myself  for  some  time  in  watching  them,  I 
swept  the  glasses  farther  on.  Still  the  same  animals 
grazing  on  the  hills  and  in  the  hollows.  I  continued 
to  look,  and  to  look  again,  until  even  the  powerful 
prismatic  glasses  failed  to  show  things  big  enough 
to  distinguish.  At  the  limit  of  extreme  vision  I  could 
still  make  out  game,  and  yet  more  game.  And  as 
I  took  my  glasses  from  my  eyes,  and  realized  how 
small  a  portion  of  this  great  land-sea  I  had  been 
able  to  examine;  as  I  looked  away  to  the  ship-hills 
hull-down  over  the  horizon,  and  realized  that  over 
all  that  extent  fed  the  Game;  the  ever-new  wonder  of 
Africa  for  the  hundredth  time  filled  my  mind  —  the 
teeming  fecundity  of  her  bosom. 

"Look  here,"  said  H.  without  removing  his  eye 
from  the  'scope,  "just  beyond  the  edge  of  that  shadow 
to  the  left  of  the  bushes  in  the  donga  —  I've  been 
watching  them  ten  minutes,  and  I  can't  make  'em 
out  yet.  They're  either  hyenas  acting  mighty  queer, 
or  else  two  lionesses." 

We  snatched  our  glasses  and  concentrated  on  that 
important  detail. 

To  catch  the  third  experience  you  must  have 
journeyed  with  us  across  the  "Thirst,"  as  the  natives 
picturesquely  name  the  waterless  tract  ot  two  days 

22 


AFRICA 

and  a  half.  Our  very  start  had  been  delayed  by  a 
breakage  of  some  Dutch-sounding  essential  to  our 
ox  wagon,  caused  by  the  confusion  of  a  night  attack 
by  lions:  almost  every  night  we  had  lain  awake  as 
long  as  we  could  to  enjoy  the  deep-breathed  grum- 
bling or  the  vibrating  roars  of  these  beasts.  Now  at 
last,  having  pushed  through  the  dry  country  to  the 
river  in  the  great  plain,  we  were  able  to  take  breath 
from  our  mad  hurry,  and  to  give  our  attention  to 
affairs  beyond  the  limits  of  mere  expediency.  One 
of  these  was  getting  Billy  a  shot  at  a  lion. 

Billy  had  never  before  wanted  to  shoot  anything 
except  a  python.  Why  a  python  we  could  not  quite 
fathom.  Personally,  I  think  she  had  some  vague 
idea  of  getting  even  for  that  Garden  of  Eden  affair. 
But  lately,  pythons  proving  scarcer  than  in  that 
favoured  locality,  she  had  switched  to  a  lion.  She 
wanted,  she  said,  to  give  the  skin  to  her  sister.  In 
vain  we  pointed  out  that  a  zebra  hide  was  very 
decorative,  that  lions  go  to  absurd  lengths  in  re- 
taining possession  of  their  own  skins,  and  other 
equally  convincing  facts.  It  must  be  a  lion  or 
nothing;  so  naturally  we  had  to  make  a  try. 

There  are  several  ways  of  getting  lions,  only  one  of 
which  is  at  all  likely  to  afford  a  steady  pot  shot  to  a 
very  small  person  trying  to  manipulate  an  over-size 
gun.  That  is  to  lay  out  a  kill.  The  idea  is  to  catch 

23 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

the  lion  at  it  in  the  early  morning  before  he  has 
departed  for  home.  The  best  kill  is  a  zebra :  first, 
because  lions  like  zebra;  second,  because  zebra  are 
fairly  large;  third,  because  zebra  are  very  numerous. 

Accordingly,  after  we  had  pitched  camp  just 
within  a  fringe  of  mimosa  trees  and  of  red-flowering 
aloes  near  the  river;  had  eaten  lunch,  smoked  a  pipe 
and  issued  necessary  orders  to  the  men,  C.  and  I  set 
about  the  serious  work  of  getting  an  appropriate 
bait  in  an  appropriate  place. 

The  plains  stretched  straight  away  from  the  river 
bank  to  some  indefinite  and  unknown  distance  to 
the  south.  A  low  range  of  mountains  lay  blue  to 
the  left;  and  a  mantle  of  scrub  thornbush  closed  the 
view  to  the  right.  This  did  not  imply  that  we  could 
see  far  straight  ahead,  for  the  surface  of  the  plain 
rose  slowly  to  the  top  of  a  swell  about  two  miles 
away.  Beyond  it  reared  a  single  butte  peak  at  four 
or  five  times  that  distance. 

We  stepped  from  the  fringe  of  red  aloes  and  squint- 
ed through  the  dancing  heat  shimmer.  Near  the 
limit  of  vision  showed  a  very  faint  glimmering  whit- 
ish streak.  A  newcomer  to  Africa  would  not  have 
looked  at  it  twice:  nevertheless,  it  could  be  nothing 
but  zebra.  These  gaudily  marked  beasts  take 
queer  aspects  even  on  an  open  plain.  Most  often 
they  show  pure  white;  sometimes  a  jet  black;  only 

24 


AFRICA 

when  within  a  few  hundred  yards  does  one  dis- 
tinguish the  stripes.  Almost  always  they  are  very 
easily  made  out.  Only  when  very  distant  and  in  a 
heat  shimmer,  or  in  certain  half  lights  of  evening, 
does  their  so-called  "protective  colouration"  seem  to 
be  in  working  order,  and  even  then  they  are  always 
quite  visible  to  the  least  expert  hunter's  scrutiny. 

It  is  not  difficult  to  kill  a  zebra,  though  sometimes 
it  has  to  be  done  at  a  fairly  long  range.  If  all  you 
want  is  meat  for  the  porters,  the  matter  is  simple 
enough.  But  when  you  require  bait  for  a  lion,  that 
is  another  affair  entirely.  In  the  first  place,  you 
must  be  able  to  stalk  within  a  hundred  yards  of  your 
kill  without  being  seen;  in  the  second  place,  you  must 
provide  two  or  ±hree  good  lying-down  places  for 
your  prospective  trophy  within  fifteen  yards  of  the 
carcass  —  and  no  more  than  two  or  three;  in  the 
third  place,  you  must  judge  the  direction  of  the  prob- 
able morning  wind,  and  must  be  able  to  approach 
from  leeward.  It  is  evidently  pretty  good  luck  to 
find  an  accommodating  zebra  in  just  such  a  spot. 
It  is  a  matter  of  still  greater  nicety  to  drop  him  ab- 
solutely in  his  tracks.  In  a  case  of  porters'  meat  it 
does  not  make  any  particular  difference  if  he  runs  a 
hundred  yards  before  he  dies.  With  lion  bait  even 
fifty  yards  makes  all  the  difference  in  the  world. 

C.  and  I  talked  it  over  and  resolved  to  press  Scally- 

25 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

wattamus  into  service.  Scallywattamus  is  a  small 
white  mule  who  is  firmly  convinced  that  each  and 
every  bush  in  Africa  conceals  a  mule-eating  rhinoc- 
eros, and  who  does  not  intend  to  be  one  of  the 
number  so  eaten.  But  we  had  noticed  that  at  times 
zebra  would  be  so  struck  with  the  strange  sight  of 
Scallywattamus  carrying  a  man,  that  they  would  let 
us  get  quite  close.  C.  was  to  ride  Scallywattamus 
while  I  trudged  along  under  his  lee  ready  to  shoot. 

We  set  out  through  the  heat  shimmer,  gradually 
rising  as  the  plain  slanted.  Imperceptibly  the  camp 
and  the  trees  marking  the  river's  course  fell  below 
us  and  into  the  heat  haze.  In  the  distance,  close  to 
the  stream,  we  made  out  a  blurred,  brown-red  solid 
mass  which  we  knew  for  Masai  cattle.  Various  little 
Thomson's  gazelles  skipped  away  to  the  left  wag- 
gling their  tails  vigorously  and  continuously  as 
Nature  long  since  commanded  "Tommies"  to  do. 
The  heat  haze  steadied  around  the  dim  white  line, 
so  we  could  make  out  the  individual  animals.  There 
were  plenty  of  them,  dozing  in  the  sun.  A  single 
tiny  treelet  broke  the  plain  just  at  the  skyline  of  the 
rise.  C.  and  I  talked  low-voiced  as  we  went  along. 
We  agreed  that  the  tree  was  an  excellent  landmark 
to  come  to,  that  the  little  rise  afforded  proper  cover, 
and  that  in  the  morning  the  wind  would  in  all  likeli- 
hood blow  toward  the  river.  There  were  perhaps 

26 


AFRICA 

twenty  zebra  near  enough  the  chosen  spot.  Any 
of  them  would  do. 

But  the  zebra  did  not  give  a  hoot  for  Scallywat- 
tamus.  At  five  hundred  yards  three  or  four  of  them 
awoke  with  a  start,  stared  at  us  a  minute,  and  moved 
slowly  away.  They  told  all  the  zebra  they  happened 
upon  that  the  three  idiots  approaching  were  at 
once  uninteresting  and  dangerous.  At  four  hun- 
dred and  fifty  yards  a  half  dozen  more  made  off  at  a 
trot.  At  three  hundred  and  fifty  yards  the  rest 
plunged  away  at  a  canter  —  all  but  one.  He  re- 
mained to  stare,  but  his  tail  was  up,  and  we  knew  he 
only  stayed  because  he  knew  he  could  easily  catch 
up  in  the  next  twenty  seconds. 

The  chance  was  very  slim  of  delivering  a  knockout 
at  that  distance,  but  we  badly  needed  meat,  anyway, 
after  our  march  through  the  Thirst,  so  I  tried  him. 
We  heard  the  well-known  plunk  of  the  bullet,  but 
down  went  his  head,  up  went  his  heels,  and  away 
went  he.  We  watched  him  in  vast  disgust.  He 
cavorted  out  into  a  bare  open  space  without  cover 
of  any  sort,  and  then  flopped  over.  I  thought  I 
caught  a  fleeting  grin  of  delight  onMavrouki'sface; 
but  he  knew  enough  instantly  to  conceal  his  satis- 
faction over  sure  meat. 

There  were  now  no  zebra  anywhere  near;  but  since 
nobody  ever  thinks  of  omitting  any  chances  in 

27 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

Africa,  I  sneaked  up  to  the  tree  and  took  a  per- 
functory look.  There  stood  another,  providentially 
absent-minded,  zebra! 

We  got  that  one.  Everybody  was  now  happy. 
The  boys  raced  over  to  the  first  kill,  which  soon  took 
its  dismembered  way  toward  camp.  C.  and  I  care- 
fully organized  our  plan  of  campaign.  We  fixed  in 
our  memories  the  exact  location  of  each  and  every 
bush;  we  determined  compass  direction  from  camp, 
and  any  other  bearings  likely  to  prove  useful  in  finding 
so  small  a  spot  in  the  dark.  Then  we  left  a  boy  to 
keep  carrion  birds  off  until  sunset;  and  returned  home. 

We  were  out  in  the  morning  before  even  the  first 
sign  of  dawn.  Billy  rode  her  little  mule,  C.  and  I  went 
afoot,  Memba  Sasa  accompanied  us  because  he  could 
see  whole  lions  where  even  C.'s  trained  eye  could  not 
make  out  an  ear,  and  the  syce  went  along  to  take 
care  of  the  mule.  The  heavens  were  ablaze  with  the 
thronging  stars  of  the  tropics,  so  we  found  we  could 
make  out  the  skyline  of  the  distant  butte  over  the 
rise  of  the  plains.  The  earth  itself  was  a  pool  of 
absolute  blackness.  We  could  not  see  where  we 
were  placing  our  feet,  and  we  were  continually  bring- 
ing up  suddenly  to  walk  around  an  unexpected  aloe 
or  thornbush.  The  night  was  quite  still,  but  every 
once  in  a  while  from  the  blackness  came  rustlings, 
scamperings,  low  calls,  and  once  or  twice  the  startled 

28 


AFRICA 

barking  of  zebra  very  near  at  hand.  The  latter 
sounded  as  ridiculous  as  ever.  It  is  one  of  the  many 
incongruities  of  African  life  that  Nature  should  have 
given  so  large  and  so  impressive  a  creature  the  pet- 
ulant yapping  of  an  exasperated  Pomeranian  lap 
dog.  At  the  end  of  three  quarters  of  an  hour  of  more 
or  less  stumbling  progress,  we  made  out  against  the 
sky  the  twisted  treelet  that  served  as  our  landmark. 
Billy  dismounted,  turned  the  mule  over  to  the  syce, 
and  we  crept  slowly  forward  until  within  a  guessed 
two  or  three  hundred  yards  of  our  kill. 

Nothing  remained  now  but  to  wait  for  the  day- 
light. It  had  already  begun  to  show.  Over  be- 
hind the  distant  mountains  some  one  was  kindling 
the  fires,  and  the  stars  were  flickering  out.  The 
splendid  ferocity  of  the  African  sunrise  was  at  hand. 
Long  bands  of  slate  dark  clouds  lay  close  along  the 
horizon,  and  behind  them  glowed  a  heart  of  fire,  as 
on  a  small  scale  the  lamplight  glows  through  a  metal- 
worked  shade.  On  either  side  the  sky  was  pale 
green-blue,  translucent  and  pure,  deep  as  infinity 
itself.  The  earth  was  still  black,  and  the  top  of  the 
rise  near  at  hand  was  clear  edged.  On  that  edge, 
and  by  a  strange  chance  accurately  in  the  centre 
of  illumination,  stood  the  uncouth  massive  form  of 
a  shaggy  wildebeeste,  his  head  raised,  staring  to  the 
east.  He  did  not  move;  nothing  of  that  fire  and 

29 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

black  world  moved;  only  instant  by  instant  it 
changed,  swelling  in  glory  toward  some  climax  until 
one  expected  at  any  moment  a  fanfare  of  trumpets, 
the  burst  of  triumphant  culmination. 

Then  very  far  down  in  the  distance  a  lion  roared. 
The  wildebeeste,  without  moving,  bellowed  back  an 
answer  or  a  defiance.  Down  in  the  hollow  an  os- 
trich boomed.  Zebra  barked,  and  several  birds 
chirped  strongly.  The  tension  was  breaking  not  in 
the  expected  fanfare  and  burst  of  triumphal  music, 
but  in  a  manner  instantly  felt  to  be  more  fitting  to 
what  was  indeed  a  wonder,  but  a  daily  wonder  for  all 
that.  At  one  and  the  same  instant  the  rim  of  the 
sun  appeared  and  the  wildebeeste,  after  the  sudden 
habit  of  his  kind,  made  up  his  mind  to  go.  He 
dropped  his  head  and  came  thundering  down  past 
us  at  full  speed.  Straight  to  the  west  he  headed, 
and  so  disappeared.  We  could  hear  the  beat  of  his 
hoofs  dying  into  the  distance.  He  had  gone  like  a 
Warder  of  the  Morning  whose  task  was  finished. 
On  the  knife-edged  skyline  appeared  the  silhouette 
of  slim-legged  little  Tommies,  flirting  their  tails, 
sniffing  at  the  dewy  grass,  dainty,  slender,  confiding, 
the  open-day  antithesis  of  the  tremendous  and  awe- 
some lord  of  the  darkness  that  had  roared  its  way  to 
its  lair,  and  to  the  massive  shaggy  herald  of  morn- 
ing that  had  thundered  down  to  the  west. 

3° 


Ill 

THE  CENTRAL  PLATEAU 

NOW  is  required  a  special  quality  of  the  imag- 
ination, not  in  myself,  but  in  my  readers,  for 
it  becomes  necessary  for  them  to  grasp  the  logic  of  a 
whole  country  in  one  mental  effort.  The  difficulties 
to  me  are  very  real.  If  I  am  to  tell  you  it  all  in  de- 
tail, your  mind  becomes  confused  to  the  point  of 
mingling  the  ingredients  of  the  description.  The 
resultant  mental  picture  is  a  composite;  it  mixes 
localities  wide  apart;  it  comes  out,  like  the  snake- 
creeper-swamp-forest  thing  of  grammar-school 
South  America,  an  unreal  and  deceitful  impression. 
If,  on  the  other  hand,  I  try  to  give  you  a  bird's-eye 
view  —  saying,  here  is  plain,  and  there  follows  up- 
land, and  yonder  succeed  mountains  and  hills  — 
you  lose  the  sense  of  breadth  and  space  and  the  toil 
of  many  days.  The  feeling  of  onward  outward  ex- 
tending distance  is  gone;  and  that  impression  so  in- 
dispensable to  finite  understanding  —  "here  am  I, 
and  what  is  beyond  is  to  be  measured  by  the  length 
of  my  legs  and  the  toil  of  my  days."  You  will  not 

31 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

stop  long  enough  on  my  plains  to  realize  their  physi- 
cal extent  nor  their  influence  on  the  human  soul. 
If  I  mention  them  in  a  sentence,  you  dismiss  them  in 
a  thought.  And  that  is  something  the  plains  them- 
selves refuse  to  permit  you  to  do.  Yet  sometimes 
one  must  become  a  guide-book,  and  bespeak  his 
reader's  imagination. 

The  country,  then,  wherein  we  travelled  begins 
at  the  sea.  Along  the  coast  stretches  a  low  rolling 
country  of  steaming  tropics,  grown  with  cocoanuts, 
bananas,  mangoes,  and  populated  by  a  happy,  half- 
naked  race  of  the  Swahilis.  Leaving  the  coast,  the 
country  rises  through  hills.  These  hills  are  at  first 
fertile  and  green  and  wooded.  Later  they  turn  into 
an  almost  unbroken  plateau  of  thorn  scrub,  cruel, 
monotonous,  almost  impenetrable.  Fix  thorn  scrub 
in  your  mind,  with  rhino  trails,  and  occasional  open- 
ings for  game,  and  a  few  rivers  flowing  through  palms 
and  narrow  jungle  strips;  fix  it  in  your  mind  until 
your  mind  is  filled  with  it,  until  you  are  convinced 
that  nothing  else  can  exist  in  the  world  but  more  and 
more  of  the  monotonous,  terrible,  dry,  onstretching 
desert  of  thorn. 

Then  pass  through  this  to  the  top  of  the  hills  far 
inland,  and  journey  over  these  hills  to  the  highland 
plains. 

Now  sense  and  appreciate  these  wide  seas  of  plains, 

32 


THE  CENTRAL  PLATEAU 

and  the  hills  and  ranges  of  mountains  rising  from 
them,  and  their  infinite  diversity  of  country  — 
their  rivers  marked  by  ribbons  of  jungle,  their  scat- 
tered-bush and  their  thick-bush  areas,  their  grass 
expanses,  and  their  great  distances  extending  far 
over  exceedingly  wide  horizons.  Realize  how  many 
weary  hours  you  must  travel  to  gain  the  nearest 
butte,  what  days  of  toil  the  view  from  its  top  will 
disclose.  Savour  the  fact  that  you  can  spend  months 
in  its  veriest  corner  without  exhausting  its  pos- 
sibilities. Then,  and  not  until  then,  raise  your  eyes 
to  the  low  rising  transverse  range  that  bands  it  to 
the  west  as  the  thorn  desert  bands  it  to  the  east. 

And  on  these  ranges  are  the  forests,  the  great 
bewildering  forests.  In  what  looks  like  a  grove  lying 
athwart  a  little  hill  you  can  lose  yourself  for  days. 
Here  dwell  millions  of  savages  in  an  apparently  un- 
touched wilderness.  Here  rises  a  snow  mountain 
on  the  equator.  Here  are  tangles  and  labyrinths, 
great  bamboo  forests  lost  in  folds  of  the  mightiest 
hills.  Here  are  the  elephants.  Here  are  the  swing- 
ing vines,  the  jungle  itself. 

Yet  finally  it  breaks.  We  come  out  on  the  edge 
of  things  and  look  down  on  a  great  gash  in  the  earth. 
It  is  like  a  sunken  kingdom  in  itself,  miles  wide,  with 
its  own  mountain  ranges,  its  own  rivers,  its  own  land- 
scape features.  Only  on  either  side  of  it  rise  the 

33 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

escarpments  which  are  the  true  level  of  the  plateau. 
One  can  spend  two  months  in  this  valley,  too,  and 
in  the  countries  south  to  which  it  leads.  And  on  its 
farther  side  are  the  high  plateau  plains  again,  or  the 
forests,  or  the  desert,  or  the  great  lakes  that  lie  at 
the  source  of  the  Nile. 

So  now,  perhaps,  we  are  a  little  prepared  to  go 
ahead.  The  guide-book  work  is  finished  for  good 
and  all.  There  is  the  steaming  hot  low  coast  belt, 
and  the  hot  dry  thorn  desert  belt,  and  the  varied 
immense  plains,  and  the  high  mountain  belt  of  the 
forests,  and  again  the  variegated  wide  country  of 
the  Rift  Valley  and  the  high  plateau.  To  attempt 
to  tell  you  seriatim  and  in  detail  just  what  they  are 
like  is  the  task  of  an  encyclopedist.  Perhaps  more 
indirectly  you  may  be  able  to  fill  in  the  picture  of 
the  country,  the  people,  and  the  beasts. 


34 


IV 
THE  FIRST  CAMP 

OUR  very  first  start  into  the  new  country  was 
made  when  we  piled  out  from  the  little  train 
standing  patiently  awaiting  the  good  pleasure  of  our 
descent.  That  feature  strikes  me  with  ever  new 
wonder  —  the  accommodating  way  trains  of  the 
Uganda  Railway  have  of  waiting  for  you.  One  day, 
at  a  little  wayside  station,  C.  and  I  were  idly  exchang- 
ing remarks  with  the  only  white  man  in  sight,  killing 
time  until  the  engine  should  whistle  to  a  resumption 
of  the  journey.  The  guard  lingered  about  just  out 
of  earshot.  At  the  end  of  five  minutes  C.  happened 
to  catch  his  eye,  whereupon  he  ventured  to  approach. 

"When  you  have  finished  your  conversation,"  said 
he  politely,  "we  are  all  ready  to  go  on." 

On  the  morning  in  question  there  were  a  lot  of  us 
to  disembark  —  one  hundred  and  twenty-two,  to  be 
exact  —  of  which  four  were  white.  We  were  not 
yet  acquainted  with  our  men,  nor  yet  with  our  stores, 
nor  with  the  methods  of  our  travel.  The  train  went 
off  and  left  us  in  the  middle  of  a  high  plateau,  with 

35 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

low  ridges  running  across  it,  and  mountains  in  the 
distance.  Men  were  squabbling  earnestly  for  the 
most  convenient  loads  to  carry,  and  as  fast  as  they 
had  gained  undisputed  possession,  they  marked 
the  loads  with  some  private  sign  of  their  own. 
M'ganga,  the  headman,  tall,  fierce,  big-framed  and 
bony,  clad  in  fez,  a  long  black  overcoat,  blue  put- 
tees and  boots,  stood  stiff  as  a  ramrod,  extended  a 
rigid  right  arm  and  rattled  off  orders  in  a  high  dy- 
namic voice.  In  his  left  hand  he  clasped  a  bulgy 
umbrella,  the  badge  of  his  dignity  and  the  symbol 
of  his  authority.  The  four  askaris,  big  men  too, 
with  masterful  high  -  cheekboned  countenances, 
rushed  here  and  there  seeing  that  the  orders  were 
carried  out.  Expostulations,  laughter,  the  sound  of 
quarrelling  rose  and  fell.  Never  could  the  combined 
volume  of  it  all  override  the  firecracker  stream  of 
M'ganga's  eloquence. 

We  had  nothing  to  do  with  it  all,  but  stood  a  little 
dazed,  staring  at  the  novel  scene.  Our  men  were 
of  many  tribes,  each  with  its  own  cast  of  features,  its 
own  notions  of  what  befitted  man's  performance  of 
his  duties  here  below.  They  stuck  together  each 
in  its  clan.  A  fine  free  individualism  of  personal 
adornment  characterized  them.  Every  man  dressed 
for  his  own  satisfaction  solely.  They  hung  all  sorts 
of  things  in  the  distended  lobes  of  their  ears. 

36 


THE  FIRST  CAMP 

One  had  succeeded  in  inserting  a  fine  big  glittering 
tobacco  tin.  Others  had  invented  elaborate  topiary 
designs  in  their  hair,  shaving  their  heads  so  as  to 
leave  strange  tufts,  patches,  crescents  on  the  most 
unexpected  places.  Of  the  intricacy  of  these  de- 
signs they  seemed  absurdly  proud.  Various  sorts  of 
treasure  trove  hung  from  them  —  a  bunch  of  keys 
to  which  there  were  no  locks,  discarded  hunting 
knives,  tips  of  antelope  horns,  discharged  brass  car- 
tridges, a  hundred  and  one  valueless  trifles  plucked 
proudly  from  the  rubbish  heap.  They  were  all 
clothed.  We  had  supplied  each  with  a  red  blanket, 
a  blue  jersey,  and  a  water  bottle.  The  blankets 
they  were  twisting  most  ingeniously  into  turbans. 
Beside  these  they  sported  a  great  variety  of  gar- 
ments. Shooting  coats  that  had  seen  better  days, 
a  dozen  shabby  overcoats  —  worn  proudly  through 
the  hottest  noons  — •  raggety  breeches  and  trousers 
made  by  some  London  tailor,  queer  baggy  home- 
mades  of  the  same  persuasion,  or  quite  simply  the 
square  of  cotton  cloth  arranged  somewhat  like  a  short 
tight  skirt,  or  nothing  at  all  as  the  man's  taste  ran. 
They  were  many  of  them  amusing  enough;  but  some- 
how they  did  not  look  entirely  farcical  and  ridiculous, 
like  our  negroes  putting  on  airs.  All  these  things 
were  worn  with  a  simplicity  of  quiet  confidence 
in  their  entire  fitness.  And  beneath  the  red 

37 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

blanket  turbans  the  half-wild  savage  faces  peered 
out. 

Now  Mahomet  approached.  Mahomet  was  my 
personal  boy.  He  was  a  Somali  from  the  Northwest 
coast,  dusky  brown,  with  the  regular  clear-cut  fea- 
tures of  a  Greek  marble  god.  His  dress  was  of  neat 
khaki,  and  he  looked  down  on  savages;  but,  also,  as 
with  all  the  dark-skinned  races,  up  to  his  white  mas- 
ter. Mahomet  was  with  me  during  all  my  African 
stay,  and  tested  out  nobly.  As  yet,  of  course,  I  did 
not  know  him. 

"Chakula  taiari,"  said  he. 

That  is  Swahili.  It  means  literally  "food  is 
ready."  After  one  has  hunted  in  Africa  for  a  few 
months,  it  means  also  "paradise  is  opened,"  "grief 
is  at  an  end,"  "joy  and  thanksgiving  are  now  in 
order,"  and  similar  affairs.  Those  two  words  are 
never  forgotten,  and  the  veriest  beginner  in  Swahili 
can  recognize  them  without  the  slightest  effort. 

We  followed  Mahomet.  Somehow,  without  or- 
ders, in  all  this  confusion,  the  personal  staff  had  been 
quietly  and  efficiently  busy.  Drawn  a  little  to  one 
side  stood  a  table  with  four  chairs.  The  table  was 
covered  with  a  white  cloth,  and  was  set  with  a  beau- 
tiful white  enamel  service.  We  took  our  places. 
Behind  each  chair  straight  as  a  ramrod  stood  a  neat 
khaki-clad  boy.  They  brought  us  food,  and  pre- 
38 


"They  sported  a  great  variety       "M'ganga,  the  headman,  tall, 
of  garments."  fierce,  big  framed  and  bony." 


On  the  march. 


"The  blankets  they  were  twisting  most  ingeniously  into 
turbans." 


THE  FIRST  CAMP 

sented  it  properly  on  the  left  side,  waiting  like  well- 
trained  butlers.  We  might  have  been  in  a  London 
restaurant.  As  three  of  us  were  Americans,  we  felt 
a  trifle  dazed.  The  porters,  having  finished  the  dis- 
tribution of  their  loads,  squatted  on  their  heels  and 
watched  us  respectfully. 

And  then,  not  two  hundred  yards  away,  four  os- 
triches paced  slowly  across  the  track,  paying  not  the 
slightest  attention  to  us  —  our  first  real  wild  os- 
triches, scornful  of  oranges,  careless  of  tourists,  and 
rightful  guardians  of  their  own  snowy  plumes.  The 
passage  of  these  four  solemn  birds  seemed  somehow 
to  lend  this  strange  open-air  meal  an  exotic  flavour. 
We  were  indeed  in  Africa;  and  the  ostriches  helped 
us  to  realize  it. 

We  finished  breakfast  and  arose  from  our  chairs. 
Instantly  a  half  dozen  men  sprang  forward.  Before 
our  amazed  eyes  the  table  service,  the  chairs  and 
the  table  itself  disappeared  into  neat  packages. 
M'ganga  arose  to  his  feet. 

"Bandika!"  he  cried. 

The  askaris  rushed  here  and  there  actively. 

"Bandika!  bandika!  bandika!"  they  cried  re- 
peatedly. 

The  men  sprang  into  activity.  A  struggle  heaved 
the  varicoloured  multitude  —  and,  lo!  each  man 
stood  upright,  his  load  balanced  on  his  head.  At 

39 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

the  same  moment  the  syces  led  up  our  horses.  We 
mounted  and  headed  across  the  little  plain  whence 
had  come  the  four  ostriches.  Our  African  journey 
had  definitely  begun. 

Behind  us,  all  abreast  marched  the  four  gunbear- 
ers;  then  the  four  syces;  then  the  safari  single  file, 
an  askari  at  the  head  bearing  proudly  his  ancient 
musket  and  our  banner,  other  askaris  flanking, 
M'ganga  bringing  up  the  rear  with  his  mighty  um- 
brella and  an  unsuspected  rhinoceros-hide  whip. 
The  tent  boys  and  the  cook  scattered  along  the 
flank  anywhere,  as  befitted  the  free  and  independent 
who  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  serious  business  of 
marching.  A  measured  sound  of  drumming  fol- 
lowed the  beating  of  loads  with  a  hundred  sticks;  a 
wild,  weird  chanting  burst  from  the  ranks  and  died 
down  again  as  one  or  another  individual  or  group 
felt  moved  to  song.  One  lot  had  a  formal  chant  and 
response.  Their  leader,  in  a  high  falsetto,  said 
something  like 

"  Kuna  koma  kuno," 

and  all  his  tribesmen  would  follow  with  a  single  word 
in  a  deep  gruff  tone 

"  Za-la-nee  ! '? 

All  of  which  undoubtedly  helped  immensely 
The  country  was  a  bully  country,  but  somehow  it 

40 


THE  FIRST  CAMP 

did  not  look  like  Africa.  That  is  to  say,  it  looked 
altogether  too  much  like  any  amount  of  country  at 
home.  There  was  nothing  strange  and  exotic  about 
it.  We  crossed  a  little  plain,  and  up  over  a  small 
hill,  down  into  a  shallow  canon  that  seemed  to  be 
wooded  with  live  oaks,  across  a  grass  valley  or  so,  and 
around  a  grass  hill.  Then  we  went  into  camp  at  the 
edge  of  another  grass  valley,  by  a  stream  across 
which  rose  some  ordinary  low  cliffs. 

That  is  the  disconcerting  thing  about  a  whole  lot 
of  this  country  —  it  is  so  much  like  home.  Of 
course,  there  are  many  wide  districts  exotic  enough  in 
all  conscience  —  the  jungle  beds  of  the  rivers,  the 
bamboo  forests,  the  great  tangled  forests  themselves, 
the  banana  groves  down  the  aisles  of  which  dance 
savages  with  shields  —  but  so  very  much  of  it  is 
familiar.  One  needs  only  church  spires  and  a  red- 
roofed  village  or  so  to  imagine  one's  self  in  Surrey. 
There  is  any  amount  of  country  like  Arizona,  and 
more  like  the  uplands  of  Wyoming,  and  a  lot  of  it 
resembling  the  smaller  landscapes  of  New  England. 
The  prospects  of  the  whole  world  are  there,  so  that 
somewhere  every  wanderer  can  find  the  countryside 
of  his  own  home  repeated.  And,  by  the  same  token, 
that  is  exactly  what  makes  a  good  deal  of  it  so  start- 
ling. When  a  man  sees  a  file  of  spear-armed  sav- 
ages, or  a  pair  of  snorty  old  rhinos,  step  out  into 

41 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

what  has  seemed  practically  his  own  back  yard  at 
home,  he  is  even  more  startled  than  if  he  had  en- 
countered them  in  quite  strange  surroundings. 

We  rode  into  the  grass  meadow  and  picked  our 
camp  site.  The  men  trailed  in  and  dumped  down 
their  loads  in  a  row. 

At  a  signal  they  set  to  work.  A  dozen  to  each 
tent  got  them  up  in  a  jiffy.  A  long  file  brought  fire- 
wood from  the  stream  bed.  Others  carried  water, 
stones  for  the  cook,  a  dozen  other  matters.  The 
tent  boys  rescued  our  boxes;  they  put  together  the 
cots  and  made  the  beds,  even  before  the  tents  were 
raised  from  the  ground.  Within  an  incredibly  short 
space  of  time  the  three  green  tents  were  up  and  ar- 
ranged, each  with  its  bed  made,  its  mosquito  bar 
hung,  its  personal  box  open,  its  folding  washstand 
ready  with  towels  and  soap,  the  table  and  chairs 
unlimbered.  At  a  discreet  distance  flickered  the 
cook  campfire,  and  at  a  still  discreeter  distance  the 
little  tents  of  the  men  gleamed  pure  white  against 
the  green  of  the  high  grass. 


"The  great  tangled  forests  themselves." 


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MEMBA  SASA 

I  WISH  I  could  plunge  you  at  once  into  the  excite- 
ments of  big  game  in  Africa,  but  I  cannot  truth- 
fully do  so.  To  be  sure,  we  went  hunting  that  after- 
noon, up  over  the  low  cliffs,  and  we  saw  several  of  a 
very  lively  little  animal  known  as  the  Chanler's 
reedbuck.  This  was  not  supposed  to  be  a  game 
country,  and  that  was  all  we  did  see.  At  these  we 
shot  several  times  —  disgracefully.  In  fact,  for 
several  days  we  could  not  shoot  at  all,  at  any  range, 
nor  at  anything.  It  was  very  sad,  and  very  ag- 
gravating. Afterward  we  found  that  this  is  an 
invariable  experience  to  the  newcomer.  The  light 
is  new,  the  air  is  different,  the  sizes  of  the  game  are 
deceiving.  Nobody  can  at  first  hit  anything.  At 
the  end  of  five  days  we  suddenly  began  to  shoot  our 
normal  gait.  Why,  I  do  not  know. 

But  in  this  afternoon  tramp  around  the  low  cliffs 
after  the  elusive  reedbuck,  I  for  the  first  time  became 
acquainted  with  a  man  who  developed  into  a  real 
friend. 

43 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

His  name  is  Memba  Sasa.  Memba  Sasa  are  two 
Swahili  words  meaning  "now  a  crocodile."  Sub- 
sequently, after  I  had  learned  to  talk  Swahili,  I 
tried  to  find  out  what  he  was  formerly,  before  he  was 
a  crocodile,  but  did  not  succeed. 

He  was  of  the  tribe  of  the  Monumwezi,  of  medium 
height,  compactly  and  sturdily  built,  carried  himself 
very  erect,  and  moved  with  a  concentrated  and  vig- 
orous purposefulness.  His  countenance  might  be 
described  as  pleasing  but  not  handsome,  of  a  dark 
chocolate  brown,  with  the  broad  nose  of  the  negro, 
but  with  a  firm  mouth,  high  cheekbones,  and  a  frown- 
ing intentness  of  brow  that  was  very  fine.  When  you 
talked  to  him  he  looked  you  straight  in  the  eye. 
His  own  eyes  were  shaded  by  long,  soft,  curling  lashes 
behind  which  they  looked  steadily  and  gravely  — 
sometimes  fiercely  —  on  the  world.  He  rarely 
smiled  —  never  merely  in  understanding  or  for 
politeness*  sake  —  and  never  laughed  unless  there 
was  something  really  amusing.  Then  he  chuckled 
from  deep  in  his  chest,  the  most  contagious  laughter 
you  can  imagine.  Often  we,  at  the  other  end  of  the 
camp,  have  laughed  in  sympathy,  just  at  the  sound 
of  that  deep  and  hearty  ho!  ho!  ho!  of  Memba  Sasa. 
Even  at  something  genuinely  amusing  he  never 
laughed  much,  nor  without  a  very  definite  restraint. 
In  fact,  about  him  was  no  slackness,  no  sprawling 

44 


MEMBA  SASA 

abandon  of  the  native  in  relaxation;  but  always  a 
taut  efficiency  and  a  never-failing  self-respect. 

Naturally,  behind  such  a  fixed  moral  fibre  must 
always  be  some  moral  idea.  When  a  man  lives  up 
to  a  real,  not  a  pompous  dignity,  some  ideal  must 
inform  it.  Memba  Sasa's  ideal  was  that  of  the 
Hunter. 

He  was  a  gunbearer;  and  he  considered  that  a  good 
gunbearer  stood  quite  a  few  notches  above  any 
other  human  being,  save  always  the  white  man,  of 
course.  And  even  among  the  latter  Memba  Sasa 
made  great  differences.  These  differences  he  kept 
to  himself,  and  treated  all  with  equal  respect. 
Nevertheless,  they  existed,  and  Memba  Sasa  very 
well  knew  that  fact.  In  the  white  world  were  two 
classes  of  masters :  those  who  hunted  well,  and  those 
who  were  considered  by  them  as  their  friends  and 
equals.  Why  they  should  be  so  considered  Memba 
Sasa  did  not  know,  but  he  trusted  the  Hunter's 
judgment.  These  were  the  bwanas,  or  masters. 
All  the  rest  were  merely  mazungos,  or,  "white  men." 
To  their  faces  he  called  them  bwana,  but  in  his  heart 
he  considered  them  not. 

Observe,  I  say  those  who  hunted  well.  Memba 
Sasa,  in  his  profession  as  gunbearer,  had  to  accom- 
pany those  who  hunted  badly.  In  them  he  took  no 
pride;  from  them  he  held  aloof  in  spirit;  but  for  them 

45 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

he  did  his  conscientious  best,  upheld  by  the  dignity  of 
his  profession. 

For  to  Memba  Sasa  that  profession  was  the 
proudest  to  which  a  black  man  could  aspire.  He 
prided  himself  on  mastering  its  every  detail,  in  accom- 
plishing its  every  duty  minutely  and  exactly.  The 
major  virtues  of  a  gunbearer  are  not  to  be  despised 
by  anybody;  for  they  comprise  great  physical  cour- 
age, endurance,  and  loyalty:  the  accomplishments 
of  a  gunbearer  are  worthy  of  a  man's  best  faculties, 
for  they  include  the  ability  to  see  and  track  game,  to 
take  and  prepare  properly  any  sort  of  a  trophy,  field 
taxidermy,  butchering  game  meat,  wood  and  plains- 
craft,  the  knowledge  of  how  properly  to  care  for  fire- 
arms in  all  sorts  of  circumstances,  and  a  half  hundred 
other  like  minutise.  Memba  Sasa  knew  these  things, 
and  he  performed  them  with  the  artist's  love  for 
details;  and  his  keen  eyes  were  always  spying  for 
new  ways. 

At  a  certain  time  I  shot  an  egret,  and  prepared  to 
take  the  skin.  Memba  Sasa  asked  if  he  might 
watch  me  do  it.  Two  months  later,  having  killed 
a  really  gaudy  peacocklike  member  of  the  guinea 
fowl  tribe,  I  handed  it  over  to  him  with  instructions 
to  take  off  the  breast  feathers  before  giving  it  to  the 
cook.  In  a  half  hour  he  brought  me  the  complete 
skin.  I  examined  it  carefully,  and  found  it  to  be  well 

46 


MEMBA  SASA 

done  in  every  respect.  Now  in  skinning  a  bird 
there  are  a  number  of  delicate  and  unusual  opera- 
tions, such  as  stripping  the  primary  quills  from  the 
bone,  cutting  the  ear  cover,  and  the  like.  I  had 
explained  none  of  them;  and  yet  Memba  Sasa,  unas- 
sisted, had  grasped  their  method  from  a  single 
demonstration  and  had  remembered  them  all  two 
months  later!  C.  had  a  trick  in  making  the  second 
skin  incision  of  a  trophy  head  that  had  the  effect  of 
giving  a  better  purchase  to  the  knife.  Its  exact 
description  would  be  out  of  place  here,  but  it  actually 
consisted  merely  in  inserting  the  point  of  the  knife 
two  inches  away  from  the  place  it  is  ordinarily  in- 
serted. One  day  we  noticed  that  Memba  Sasa  was 
making  his  incisions  in  that  manner.  I  went  to 
Africa  fully  determined  to  care  for  my  own  rifle. 
The  modern  high-velocity  gun  needs  rather  especial 
treatment;  mere  wiping  out  will  not  do.  I  found 
that  Memba  Sasa  already  knew  all  about  boiling 
water,  and  the  necessity  for  having  it  really  boiling, 
about  subsequent  metal  sweating,  and  all  the  rest. 
After  watching  him  at  work  I  concluded,  rightly, 
that  he  would  do  a  lot  better  job  than  I. 

To  the  new  employer  Memba  Sasa  maintained  an 
attitude  of  strict  professional  loyalty.  His  personal 
respect  was  upheld  by  the  necessity  of  every  man  to 
do  his  job  in  the  world.  Memba  Sasa  did  his.  He 

47 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

cleaned  the  rifles;  he  saw  that  everything  was  in 
order  for  the  day's  march;  he  was  at  my  elbow  all 
ways  with  more  cartridges  and  the  spare  rifle;  he 
trailed  and  looked  conscientiously.  In  his  attitude 
was  the  stolidity  of  the  wooden  Indian.  No  action 
of  mine,  no  joke  on  the  part  of  his  companions,  no 
circumstance  in  the  varying  fortunes  of  the  field 
gained  from  him  the  faintest  flicker  of  either  ap- 
proval, disapproval,  or  interest.  When  we  returned 
to  camp  he  deposited  my  water  bottle  and  camera, 
seized  the  cleaning  implements,  and  departed  to  his 
own  campfire.  In  the  field  he  pointed  out  game  that 
I  did  not  see,  and  waited  imperturbably  the  result 
of  my  shot. 

As  I  before  stated,  the  result  of  that  shot  for  the 
first  five  days  was  very  apt  to  be  nil.  This,  at  the 
time,  puzzled  and  grieved  me  a  lot.  Occasionally  I 
looked  at  Memba  Sasa  to  catch  some  sign  of  sym- 
pathy, disgust,  contempt,  or — -rarely — -triumph 
at  a  lucky  shot.  Nothing.  He  gently  but  firmly 
took  away  my  rifle,  reloaded  it,  and  handed  it  back; 
then  waited  respectfully  for  my  next  move.  He 
knew  no  English,  and  I  no  Swahili. 

But  as  time  went  on  this  attitude  changed.  I 
was  armed  with  the  new  Springfield  rifle,  a  weapon 
with  2,700  feet  velocity,  and  with  a  marvellously 
fiat  trajectory.  This  commanding  advantage,  com- 

48 


MEMBA  SASA 

bined  with  a  very  long  familiarity  with  firearms, 
enabled  me  to  do  some  fairish  shooting,  after  the 
strangeness  of  these  new  conditions  had  been  mas- 
tered. Memba  Sasa  began  to  take  a  dawning  in- 
terest in  me  as  a  possible  source  of  pride.  We  began 
to  develop  between  us  a  means  of  communication. 
I  set  myself  deliberately  to  learn  his  language,  and 
after  he  had  cautiously  determined  that  I  really 
meant  it,  he  took  the  greatest  pains  —  always  gravely 
—  to  teach  me.  A  more  human  feeling  sprang  up 
between  us. 

But  we  had  still  the  final  test  to  undergo  —  that 
of  danger  and  the  tight  corner. 

In  close  quarters  the  gunbearer  has  the  hardest 
job  in  the  world.  I  have  the  most  profound  respect 
for  his  absolute  courage.  Even  to  a  man  armed  and 
privileged  to  shoot  and  defend  himself,  a  charging 
lion  is  an  awesome  thing,  requiring  a  certain  amount 
of  coolness  and  resolution  to  face  effectively.  Think 
of  the  gunbearer  at  his  elbow,  depending  not  on  him- 
self but  on  the  courage  and  coolness  of  another.  He 
cannot  do  one  solitary  thing  to  defend  himself.  To 
bolt  for  the  safety  of  a  tree  is  to  beg  the  question 
completely,  to  brand  himself  as  a  shenzi  forever;  to 
fire  a  gun  in  any  circumstances  is  to  beg  the  question 
also,  for  the  white  man  must  be  able  to  depend  ab- 
solutely on  his  second  gun  in  an  emergency.  Those 

49 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

things  are  outside  consideration,  even,  of  any  re- 
spectable gunbearer.  In  addition,  he  must  keep 
cool.  He  must  see  clearly  in  the  thickest  excitement; 
must  be  ready  unobtrusively  to  pass  up  the  second 
gun  in  the  position  most  convenient  for  immediate 
use,  to  seize  the  other  and  to  perform  the  finicky  task 
of  reloading  correctly  while  some  rampageous  beast 
is  raising  particular  thunder  a  few  yards  away.  All 
this  in  absolute  dependence  on  the  ability  of  his 
bwana  to  deal  with  the  situation.  I  can  confess  very 
truly  that  once  or  twice  that  little  unobtrusive 
touch  of  Memba  Sasa  crouched  close  to  my  elbow 
steadied  me  with  the  thought  of  how  little  right  I 
—  with  a  rifle  in  my  hand  —  had  to  be  scared.  And 
the  best  compliment  I  ever  received  I  overheard  by 
chance.  I  had  wounded  a  lion  when  out  by  myself, 
and  had  returned  to  camp  for  a  heavier  rifle  and 
for  Memba  Sasa  to  do  the  trailing.  From  my  tent  I 
overheard  the  following  conversation  betweenMemba 
Sasa  and  the  cook: 

"The  grass  is  high,"  said  the  cook.  "Are  you  not 
afraid  to  go  after  a  wounded  lion  with  only  one 
white  man?" 

"My  one  white  man  is  enough,"  replied  Memba 
Sasa. 

It  is  a  quality  of  courage  that  I  must  confess  would 
be  quite  beyond  me  —  to  depend  entirely  on  the 

So 


Memba  Sasa 


Chanler's  reedbuck. 


MEMBA  SASA 

other  fellow,  and  not  at  all  on  myself.  This  cour- 
age is  always  remarkable  to  me,  even  in  the  case  of 
the  gunbearer  who  knows  all  about  the  man  whose 
heels  he  follows.  But  consider  that  of  the  gunbearer's 
first  experience  with  a  stranger.  The  former  has  no 
idea  of  how  the  white  man  will  act;  whether  he  will 
get  nervous,  get  actually  panicky,  lose  his  shooting 
ability,  and  generally  mess  things  up.  Nevertheless, 
he  follows  his  master  in,  and  he  stands  by.  If  the 
hunter  fails,  the  gunbearer  will  probably  die.  To 
me  it  is  rather  fine:  for  he  does  it,  not  from  the  per- 
sonal affection  and  loyalty  which  will  carry  men  far, 
but  from  a  sheer  sense  of  duty  and  pride  of  caste. 
The  quiet  pride  of  the  really  good  men,  like  Memba 
Sasa,  is  easy  to  understand. 

And  the  records  are  full  of  stories  of  the  white 
man  who  has  not  made  good:  of  the  coward  who  bolts, 
leaving  his  black  man  to  take  the  brunt  of  it,  or  who 
sticks  but  loses  his  head.  Each  new  employer  must 
be  very  closely  and  interestedly  scrutinized.  In 
the  light  of  subsequent  experience,  I  can  no  longer 
wonder  at  Memba  Sasa's  first  detached  and  imper- 
sonal attitude. 

As  time  went  on,  however,  and  we  grew  to  know 
each  other  better,  this  attitude  entirely  changed. 
At  first  the  change  consisted  merely  in  dropping 
the  disinterested  pose  as  respects  game.  For  it  was 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

a  pose.  Memba  Sasa  was  most  keenly  interested  in 
game  whenever  it  was  an  object  of  pursuit.  It  did 
not  matter  how  common  the  particular  species  might 
be:  if  we  wanted  it,  Memba  Sasa  would  look  upon 
it  with  eager  ferocity;  and  if  we  did  not  want  it,  he 
paid  no  attention  to  it  at  all.  When  we  started  in 
the  morning,  or  in  the  relaxation  of  our  return  at 
night,  I  would  mention  casually  a  few  of  the  things 
that  might  prove  acceptable. 

"To-morrow  we  want  kongoni  for  boys'  meat,  or 
zebra;  and  some  meat  for  masters — Tommy,  im- 
palla,  oribi;"  and  Memba  Sasa  knew  as  well  as  I  did 
what  we  needed  to  fill  out  our  trophy  collection. 
When  he  caught  sight  of  one  of  these  animals  his 
whole  countenance  changed.  The  lines  of  his  face 
set,  his  lips  drew  back  from  his  teeth,  his  eyes  fairly 
darted  fire  in  the  fixity  of  their  gaze.  He  was  like 
a  fine  pointer  dog  on  birds,  or  like  the  splendid  sav- 
age he  was  at  heart. 

"M'palla!"  he  hissed;  and  then  after  a  second,  in 
a  restrained  fierce  voice,  "Na-ona?  Do  you  see?" 

If  I  did  not  see  he  pointed  cautiously.  His  own 
eyes  never  left  the  beast.  Rarely  he  stayed  put 
while  I  made  the  stalk.  More  often  he  glided  like 
a  snake  at  my  heels.  If  the  bullet  hit,  Memba  Sasa 
always  exhaled  a  grunt  of  satisfaction  —  "hah!"  — 
in  which  triumph  and  satisfaction  mingle4  with  a 

5* 


MEMBA  SASA 

faint  derision  at  the  unfortunate  beast.  In  case  of 
a  trophy  he  squatted  anxiously  at  the  animal's  head 
while  I  took  my  measurements,  assisting  very  in- 
telligently with  the  tape  line.  When  I  had  finished, 
he  always  looked  up  at  me  with  wrinkled  brow. 

"Footie  n'gapi?"  he  inquired.  This  means  liter- 
ally, "How  many  feet?";  footie  being  his  euphemistic 
invention  of  a  word  for  the  tape.  I  would  tell  him 
how  many  "footie"  and  how  many  "inchie"  the 
measurement  proved  to  be.  From  the  depths  of  his 
wonderful  memory  he  would  dig  up  the  measurements 
of  another  beast  of  the  same  sort  I  had  killed  months 
back,  but  which  he  had  remembered  accurately  from 
a  single  hearing. 

The  shooting  of  a  beast  he  always  detailed  to  his 
few  cronies  in  camp:  the  other  gunbearers,  and  one 
or  two  from  his  own  tribe.  He  always  used  the 
first  person  plural,  "we"  did  so  and  so;  and  took  an 
inordinate  pride  in  making  out  his  bzvana  as  being 
an  altogether  superior  person  to  any  of  the  other 
gunbearer's  lowanas.  Over  a  miss  he  always  looked 
sad;  but  with  a  dignified  sadness  as  though  we  had 
met  with  undeserved  misfortune  sent  by  malignant 
gods.  If  there  were  any  possible  alleviating  ex- 
planation, Memba  Sasa  made  the  most  of  it,  pro- 
vided our  fiasco  was  witnessed.  If  we  were  alone 
in  our  disgrace,  he  buried  the  incident  fathoms  deep. 

53 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

He  took  an  inordinate  pride  in  our  using  the  mini- 
mum number  of  cartridges,  and  would  explain  to  me 
in  a  loud  tone  of  voice  that  we  had  cartridges  enough 
in  the  belt.  When  we  had  not  cartridges  enough,  he 
would  sneak  around  after  dark  to  get  some  more. 
At  times  he  would  even  surreptitiously  "lift"  a  few 
from  B.'s  gunbearer! 

When  in  camp,  with  his  "cazi"  finished,  Memba 
Sasa  did  fancy  work!  The  picture  of  this  powerful 
half-savage,  his  fierce  brows  bent  over  a  tiny  piece 
of  linen,  his  strong  fingers  fussing  with  little  stitches, 
will  always  appeal  to  my  sense  of  the  incongruous. 
Through  a  piece  of  linen  he  punched  holes  with  a 
porcupine  quill.  Then  he  "buttonhole"  stitched 
the  holes,  and  embroidered  patterns  between  them 
with  fine  white  thread.  The  result  was  an  open- 
work pattern  heavily  encrusted  with  beautiful 
fine  embroidery.  It  was  most  astounding  stuff, 
such  as  you  would  expect  from  a  French  convent, 
perhaps,  but  never  from  an  African  savage.  He  did 
a  circular  piece  and  a  long  narrow  piece.  They  took 
him  three  months  to  finish,  and  then  he  sewed  them 
together  to  form  a  skull  cap.  Billy,  entranced  with 
the  lacelike  delicacy  of  the  work,  promptly  captured 
it;  whereupon  Memba  Sasa  philosophically  started 
another. 

By  this  time  he  had  identified  himself  with  my  for- 

54 


MEMBA  SASA 

tunes.  We  had  become  a  firm  whose  business  it 
was  to  carry  out  the  affairs  of  a  single  personality  — 
me.  Memba  Sasa,  among  other  things,  undertook 
the  dignity.  When  I  walked  through  a  crowd, 
Memba  Sasa  zealously  kicked  everybody  out  of  my 
royal  path.  When  I  started  to  issue  a  command, 
Memba  Sasa  finished  it  and  amplified  it  and  put  a 
snapper  on  it.  When  I  came  into  camp,  Memba 
Sasa  saw  to  it  personally  that  my  tent  went  up 
promptly  and  properly,  although  that  was  really  not 
part  of  his  "cazi"  at  all.  And  when  somewhere  be- 
yond my  ken  some  miserable  boy  had  committed 
a  crime,  I  never  remained  long  in  ignorance  of  that 
fact. 

Perhaps  I  happened  to  be  sitting  in  my  folding 
chair  idly  smoking  a  pipe  and  reading  a  book. 
Across  the  open  places  of  the  camp  would  stride 
Memba  Sasa,  very  erect,  very  rigid,  moving  in  short 
indignant  jerks,  his  eye  flashing  fire.  Behind  him 
would  sneak  a  very  hang-dog  boy.  Memba  Sasa 
marched  straight  up  to  me,  faced  right,  and  drew  one 
side,  his  silence  sparkling  with  honest  indignation. 

"Just  look  at  that!"  his  attitude  seemed  to  say. 
"Could  you  believe  such  human  depravity  possible? 
And  against  our  authority!" 

He  always  stood,  quite  rigid,  waiting  for  me  to 
speak. 

55 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

"Well,  Memba  Sasa?"  I  would  inquire,  after  I  had 
enjoyed  the  show  a  little. 

In  a  few  restrained  words  he  put  the  case  before 
me,  always  briefly,  always  with  a  scornful  dignity. 
This  shenzi  has  done  so-and-so. 

We  will  suppose  the  case  fairly  serious.  I  lis- 
tened to  the  man's  story,  if  necessary  called  a  few 
witnesses,  delivered  judgment.  All  the  while  Mem- 
ba Sasa  stood  at  rigid  attention,  fairly  bristling  vir- 
tue, like  the  good  dog  standing  by  at  the  punishment 
of  the  bad  dogs.  And  in  his  attitude  was  a  subtle 
triumph,  as  one  would  say:  "You  see!  Fool  with 
my  bwana,  will  you!  Just  let  anybody  try  to  get 
funny  with  us! "  Judgment  pronounced  —  we 
have  supposed  the  case  serious,  you  remember  — 
Memba  Sasa  himself  applied  the  lash.  I  think  he 
really  enjoyed  that;  but  it  was  a  restrained  joy. 
The  whip  descended  deliberately,  without  excite- 
ment. 

The  man's  devotion  in  unusual  circumstances  was 
beyond  praise.  Danger  or  excitement  incite  a  sort 
of  loyalty  in  any  good  man;  but  humdrum,  dis- 
agreeable difficulty  is  a  different  matter. 

One  day  we  marched  over  a  country  of  thorn-scrub 
desert.  Since  two  days  we  had  been  cut  loose  from 
water,  and  had  been  depending  on  a  small  amount 
carried  in  zinc  drums.  Now  our  only  reasons  for 

56 


MEMBA  SASA 

faring  were  a  conical  hill,  over  the  horizon,  and  the 
knowledge  of  a  river  somewhere  beyond.  How  far 
beyond,  or  in  what  direction,  we  did  not  know.  We 
had  thirty  men  with  us,  a  more  or  less  ragtag  lot, 
picked  up  anyhow  in  the  bazaars.  They  were  soft, 
ill-disciplined  and  uncertain.  For  five  or  six  hours 
they  marched  well  enough.  Then  the  sun  began  to 
get  very  hot,  and  some  of  them  began  to  straggle. 
They  had,  of  course,  no  intention  of  deserting,  for 
their  only  hope  of  surviving  lay  in  staying  with  us; 
but  their  loads  had  become  heavy,  and  they  took  too 
many  rests.  We  put  a  good  man  behind,  but  with- 
out much  avail.  In  open  country  a  safari  can  be 
permitted  to  straggle  over  miles,  for  always  it  can 
keep  in  touch  by  sight;  but  in  this  thorn-scrub  des- 
ert, that  looks  all  alike,  a  man  fifty  yards  out  of 
sight  is  fifty  yards  lost.  We  would  march  fifteen 
or  twenty  minutes,  then  sit  down  to  wait  until  the 
rearmost  men  had  straggled  in,  perhaps  a  half  hour 
later.  And  we  did  not  dare  move  on  until  the  tale 
of  our  thirty  was  complete.  At  this  rate  progress 
was  very  slow,  and  as  the  fierce  equatorial  sun  in- 
creased in  strength,  became  always  slower  still.  The 
situation  became  alarming.  We  were  quite  out  of 
water,  and  we  had  no  idea  where  water  was  to  be 
found.  To  complicate  matters,  the  thornbrush 
thickened  to  a  jungle. 

57 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

My  single  companion  and  I  consulted.  It  was 
agreed  that  I  was  to  push  on  as  rapidly  as  possible 
to  -locate  the  water,  while  he  was  to  try  to  hold  the 
caravan  together.  Accordingly,  Memba  Sasa  and 
I  marched  ahead.  We  tried  to  leave  a  trail  to  fol- 
low; and  we  hoped  fervently  that  our  guess  as  to 
the  stream's  course  would  prove  to  be  a  good  one. 
At  the  end  of  two  hours  and  a  half  we  found 
the  water  —  a  beautiful  jungle-shaded  stream 
—  and  filled  ourselves  up  therewith.  Our  duty 
was  accomplished,  for  we  had  left  a  trail  to 
be  followed.  Nevertheless,  I  felt  I  should  like  to 
take  back  our  full  canteens  to  relieve  the  worst 
cases.  Memba  Sasa  would  not  hear  of  it,  and 
even  while  I  was  talking  to  him  seized  the  canteens 
and  disappeared. 

At  the  end  of  two  hours  more  camp  was  made,  after 
a  fashion;  but  still  four  men  had  failed  to  come  in. 
We  built  a  smudge  in  the  hope  of  guiding  them;  and 
gave  them  up.  If  they  had  followed  our  trail,  they 
should  have  been  in  long  ago;  if  they  had  missed  that 
trail,  heaven  knows  where  they  were,  or  where  we 
should  go  to  find  them.  Dusk  was  falling,  and,  to 
tell  the  truth,  we  were  both  very  much  done  up  by  a 
long  day  at  115  degrees  in  the  shade  under  an  equa- 
torial sun.  The  missing  men  would  climb  trees 
away  from  the  beasts,  and  we  would  organize  a 

58 


MEMBA  SASA 

search  next  day.  As  we  debated  these  things,  to  us 
came  Memba  Sasa. 

"I  want  to  take  <  Winchi,'"  said  he.  "Winchi" 
is  his  name  for  my  Winchester  405. 

"Why?  "we  asked. 

"If  I  can  take  Winchi,  I  will  find  the  men,"  said 
he. 

This  was  entirely  voluntary  on  his  part.  He,  as 
well  as  we,  had  had  a  hard  day,  and  he  had  made 
a  double  journey  for  part  of  it.  We  gave  him  Winchi 
and  he  departed.  Sometime  after  midnight  he  re- 
turned with  the  missing  men. 

Perhaps  a  dozen  times  all  told  he  volunteered 
for  these  special  services;  once  in  particular,  after  a 
fourteen-hour  day,  he  set  off  at  nine  o'cock  at  night 
in  a  soaking  rainstorm,  wandered  until  two  o'clock, 
and  returned  unsuccessful,  to  rouse  me  and  report 
gravely  that  he  could  not  find  them.  For  these 
services  he  neither  received  nor  expected  special 
reward.  And  catch  him  doing  anything  outside  his 
strict  "cazi"  except  for  us. 

We  were  always  very  ceremonious  and  dignified 
in  our  relations  on  such  occasions.  Memba  Sasa 
would  suddenly  appear,  deposit  the  rifle  in  its  place, 
and  stand  at  attention. 

"Well,  Memba  Sasa?"  I  would  inquire. 

"I  have  found  the  men;  they  are  in  camp." 

59 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

Then  I  would  give  him  his  reward.  It  was  either 
the  word  "assanti,"  or  the  two  words  "assanti  sana," 
according  to  the  difficulty  and  importance  of  the 
task  accomplished.  They  mean  simply  "thank 
you"  and  "thank  you  very  much." 

Once  or  twice,  after  a  particularly  long  and  diffi- 
cult month  or  so,  when  Memba  Sasa  has  been  al- 
most literally  my  alter  ego,  I  have  called  him  up  for 
special  praise.  "I  am  very  pleased  with  you, 
Memba  Sasa,"  said  I.  "You  have  done  your  cazi 
well.  You  are  a  good  man." 

He  accepted  this  with  dignity,  without  depre- 
cation, and  without  the  idiocy  of  spoken  gratitude. 
He  agreed  perfectly  with  everything  I  said!  "Yes" 
was  his  only  comment.  I  liked  it. 

On  our  ultimate  success  in  a  difficult  enterprise 
Memba  Sasa  set  great  store;  and  his  delight  in 
ultimate  success  was  apparently  quite  apart  from 
personal  considerations.  We  had  been  hunting 
greater  kudu  for  five  weeks  before  we  finally  landed 
one.  The  greater  kudu  is,  with  the  bongo,  easily  the 
prize  beast  in  East  Africa,  and  very  few  are  shot. 
By  a  piece  of  bad  luck,  for  him,  I  had  sent  Memba 
Sasa  out  in  a  different  direction  to  look  for  signs  the 
afternoon  we  finally  got  one.  The  kill  was  made 
just  at  dusk.  C.  and  I,  with  Mavrouki,  built  a  fire 
and  stayed,  while  Kongoni  went  to  camp  after  men. 

60 


MEMBA  SASA 

There  he  broke  the  news  to  Memba  Sasa  that  the 
great  prize  had  been  captured,  and  he  absent! 
Memba  Sasa  was  hugely  delighted,  nor  did  he  in  any 
way  show  what  must  have  been  a  great  disappoint- 
ment to  him.  After  repeating  the  news  trium- 
phantly to  every  one  in  camp,  he  came  out  to  where 
we  were  waiting,  arrived  quite  out  of  breath,  and 
grabbed  me  by  the  hand  in  heartiest  congratula- 
tion. 

Memba  Sasa  went  in  not  at  all  for  personal  or- 
namentation, any  more  than  he  allowed  his  dignity 
to  be  broken  by  anything  resembling  emotionalism. 
No  tattoo  marks,  no  ear  ornaments,  no  rings  nor 
bracelets.  He  never  even  picked  up  an  ostrich 
feather  for  his  head.  On  the  latter  he  sometimes  wore 
an  old  felt  hat;  sometimes,  more  picturesquely,  an 
orange-coloured  fillet.  Khaki  shirt,  khaki  "shorts," 
blue  puttees,  besides  his  knife  and  my  own  accoutre- 
ments: that  was  all.  In  town  he  was  all  white  clad, 
a  long  fine  linen  robe  reaching  to  his  feet;  and  one  of 
the  lacelike  skull  caps  he  was  so  very  skilful  at  mak- 
ing. 

That  will  do  for  a  preliminary  sketch.  If  you 
follow  these  pages,  you  will  hear  more  of  him;  and 
he  is  worth  it. 


VI 

THE  FIRST  GAME  CAMP 

IN  THE  review  of  "first"  impressions  with  which 
we  are  concerned,  we  must  now  skip  a  week  or 
ten  days  to  stop  at  what  is  known  in  our  diaries  as 
the  First  Ford  of  the  Guaso  Nyero  River. 

These  ten  days  were  not  uneventful.  We  had 
crossed  the  wide  and  undulating  plains,  had  paused 
at  some  tall  beautiful  falls  plunging  several  hundred 
feet  into  the  mysteriousness  of  a  dense  forest  on 
which  we  looked  down.  There  we  had  enjoyed  some 
duck,  goose  and  snipe  shooting;  had  made  the  ac- 
quaintance of  a  few  of  the  Masai,  and  had  looked 
with  awe  on  our  first  hippo  tracks  in  the  mud  beside 
a  tiny  ditchlike  stream.  Here  and  there  were  small 
game  herds.  In  the  light  of  later  experience  we  now 
realize  that  these  were  nothing  at  all;  but  at  the  time 
the  sight  of  full-grown  wild  animals  out  in  plain  sight 
was  quite  wonderful.  At  the  close  of  the  day's 
march  we  always  wandered  out  with  our  rifles  to  see 
what  we  could  find.  Everything  was  new  to  us,  and 
we  had  our  men  to  feed.  Our  shooting  gradually 

62 


Jackson's  hartebeest, 


The  oryx 


"The  motionless  and  picturesque  figure  of  Saa-Sita 
(six-o'clock)." 


THE  FIRST  GAME  CAMP 

improved  until  we  had  overcome  the  difficulties 
peculiar  to  this  new  country  and  were  doing  as  well 
as  we  could  do  anywhere. 

Now,  at  the  end  of  a  hard  day  through  scrub,  over 
rolling  bold  hills,  and  down  a  scrub  brush  slope,  we 
had  reached  the  banks  of  the  Guaso  Nyero. 

At  this  point,  above  the  junction  of  its  principal 
tributary  rivers,  it  was  a  stream  about  sixty  or  sev- 
enty feet  wide,  flowing  swift  between  high  banks.  A 
few  trees  marked  its  course,  but  nothing  like  a  jungle. 
The  ford  was  in  swift  water  just  above  a  deep  still 
pool  suspected  of  crocodiles.  We  found  the  water 
about  waist  deep,  stretched  a  rope  across,  and  for- 
cibly persuaded  our  eager  boys  that  one  at  a  time 
was  about  what  the  situation  required.  On  the 
other  side  we  made  camp  on  an  open  flat.  Having 
marched  so  far  continuously,  we  resolved  to  settle 
down  for  a  while.  The  men  had  been  without  suf- 
ficient meat;  and  we  desired  very  much  to  look  over 
the  country  closely,  and  to  collect  a  few  heads  as 
trophies. 

Perhaps  a  word  might  not  come  amiss  as  to  the 
killing  of  game.  The  case  is  here  quite  different 
from  the  condition  of  affairs  at  home.  Here  animal 
life  is  most  extraordinarily  abundant;  it  furnishes  the 
main  food  supply  to  the  traveller;  and  at  present  is 
probably  increasing  slightly,  certainly  holding  its 

63 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

own.  Whatever  toll  the  sportsman  or  traveller  takes 
is  as  nothing  compared  to  what  he  might  take  if  he 
were  an  unscrupulous  game  hog.  If  his  cartridges 
and  his  shoulder  held  out,  he  could  easily  kill  a 
hundred  animals  a  day  instead  of  the  few  he  re- 
quires. In  that  sense,  then,  no  man  slaughters  in- 
discriminately. During  the  course  of  a  year  he 
probably  shoots  from  two  hundred  to  two  hundred 
and  fifty  beasts,  provided  he  is  travelling  with  an 
ordinary  sized  caravan.  This,  the  experts  say,  is 
about  the  annual  toll  of  one  lion.  If  the  traveller 
gets  his  lion,  he  plays  even  with  the  fauna  of  the 
country;  if  he  gets  two  or  more  lions,  he  has  some- 
thing to  his  credit.  This  probably  explains  why  the 
game  is  still  so  remarkably  abundant  near  the  rail- 
road and  on  the  very  outskirts  of  the  town. 

We  were  now  much  in  need  of  a  fair  quantity  of 
meat,  both  for  immediate  consumption  of  our  safari, 
and  to  make  biltong  or  jerky.  Later,  in  like  cir- 
cumstances, we  should  have  sallied  forth  in  a  busi- 
nesslike fashion,  dropped  the  requisite  number  of 
zebra  and  hartebeeste  as  near  camp  as  possible,  and 
called  it  a  job.  Now,  however,  being  new  to  the 
game,  we  much  desired  good  trophies  in  variety. 
Therefore,  we  scoured  the  country  far  and  wide  for 
desirable  heads;  and  the  meat  waited  upon  the  ac- 
quisition of  the  trophy. 

64 


Notata  gazelle. 


'Tall  beautiful  falls  plunging  several  hundred  feet  into 
the  forest." 


THE  FIRST  GAME  CAMP 

This,  then,  might  be  called  our  first  Shooting 
Camp.  Heretofore  we  had  travelled  every  day. 
Now  the  boys  settled  down  to  what  the  native  por- 
ter considers  the  height  of  bliss:  a  permanent  camp 
with  plenty  to  eat. 

Each  morning  we  were  off  before  daylight,  riding 
our  horses,  and  followed  by  the  gunbearers,  the  syces, 
and  fifteen  or  twenty  porters.  The  country  rose 
from  the  river  in  a  long  gentle  slope  grown  with 
low  brush  and  scattered  candlestick  euphorbias. 
This  slope  ended  in  a  scattered  range  of  low  rocky 
buttes.  Through  any  one  of  the  various  openings 
between  them,  we  rode  to  find  ourselves  on  the  bor- 
ders of  an  undulating  grass  country  of  low  rounded 
hills  with  wide  valleys  winding  between  them.  In 
these  valleys  and  on  these  hills  was  the  game. 

Daylight  of  the  day  I  would  tell  about  found  us 
just  at  the  edge  of  the  little  buttes.  Down  one  of 
the  slopes  the  growing  half  light  revealed  two  oryx 
feeding,  magnificent  big  creatures,  with  straight 
rapier  horns  three  feet  in  length.  These  were  most 
exciting  and  desirable,  so  off  my  horse  I  got  and  be- 
gan to  sneak  up  on  them  through  the  low  tufts  of 
grass.  They  fed  quite  calmly.  I  congratulated  my- 
self, and  .slipped  nearer.  Without  even  looking  in 
my  direction,  they  trotted  away.  Somewhat  cha- 
grined, I  returned  to  my  companions,  and  we  rode  on. 

65 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

Then  across  a  mile-wide  valley  we  saw  two  dark 
objects  in  the  tall  grass;  and  almost  immediately 
identified  these  as  rhinoceroses,  the  first  we  had  seen. 
They  stood  there  side  by  side,  gazing  off  into  space, 
doing  nothing  in  a  busy  morning  world.  After 
staring  at  them  through  our  glasses  for  some  time, 
we  organized  a  raid.  At  the  bottom  of  the  valley 
we  left  the  horses  and  porters;  lined  up,  each  with  his 
gunbearer  at  his  elbow;  and  advanced  on  the  enemy. 
B.  was  to  have  the  shot.  According  to  all  the  books 
we  should  have  been  able,  provided  we  were  down- 
wind and  made  no  noise,  to  have  approached  within 
fifty  or  sixty  yards  undiscovered.  However,  at  a 
little  over  a  hundred  yards  they  both  turned  tail  and 
departed  at  a  swift  trot,  their  heads  held  well  up  and 
their  tails  sticking  up  straight  and  stiff  in  the  most 
ridiculous  fashion.  No  good  shooting  at  them  in 
such  circumstances,  so  we  watched  them  go,  still 
keeping  up  their  slashing  trot,  growing  smaller  and 
smaller  in  the  distance  until  finally  they  disappeared 
over  the  top  of  a  swell. 

We  set  ourselves  methodically  to  following  them. 
It  took  us  over  an  hour  of  steady  plodding  before  we 
again  came  in  sight  of  them.  They  were  this  time 
nearer  the  top  of  a  hill,  and  we  saw  instantly  that 
the  curve  of  the  slope  was  such  that  we  could  ap- 
proach within  fifty  yards  before  coming  in  sight  at 

66 


THE  FIRST  GAME  CAMP 

all.     Therefore,  once  more  we  dismounted,  lined  up 
in  battle  array,  and  advanced. 

Sensations?  Distinctly  nervous,  decidedly  alert, 
and  somewhat  self-congratulatory  that  I  was  not 
more  scared.  No  man  can  predicate  how  efficient 
he  is  going  to  be  in  the  presence  of  really  dangerous 
game.  Only  the  actual  trial  will  show.  This  is  not 
a  question  of  courage  at  all,  but  of  purely  involuntary 
reaction  of  the  nerves.  Very  few  men  are  physical 
cowards.  They  will  and  do  face  anything.  But  a 
great  many  men  are  rendered  inefficient  by  the  way 
their  nervous  systems  act  under  stress.  It  is  not  a 
matter  for  control  by  will  power  in  the  slightest  de- 
gree. So  the  big  game  hunter  must  determine  by 
actual  trial  whether  it  so  happens  that  the  great  ex- 
citement of  danger  renders  his  hand  shaky  or  steady. 
The  excitement  in  either  case  is  the  same.  No  man 
is  ever  "cool"  in  the  sense  that  personal  danger  is 
of  the  same  kind  of  indifference  to  him  as  clambering 
aboard  a  street  car.  He  must  always  be  lifted  above 
himself,  must  enter  an  extra  normal  condition  to 
meet  extra  normal  circumstances.  He  can  always 
control  his  conduct;  but  he  can  by  no  means  always 
determine  the  way  the  inevitable  excitement  will 
affect  his  coordinations.  And  unfortunately,  in  the 
final  result  it  does  not  matter  how  brave  a  man  is,  but 
how  closely  he  can  hold.  If  he  finds  that  his  ner- 

67 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

vous  excitement  renders  him  unsteady,  he  has  no 
business  ever  to  tackle  dangerous  game  alone.  If, 
on  the  other  hand,  he  discovers  that  identically  the 
same  nervous  excitement  happens  to  steady  his  front 
sight  to  rocklike  rigidity  —  a  rigidity  he  could  not 
possibly  attain  in  normal  conditions  —  then  he  will 
probably  keep  out  of  trouble. 

To  amplify  this  further  by  a  specific  instance:  I 
hunted  for  a  short  time  in  Africa  with  a  man  who 
was  always  eager  for  exciting  encounters,  whose 
pluck  was  admirable  in  every  way,  but  whose  ner- 
vous reaction  so  manifested  itself  that  he  was  ut- 
terly unable  to  do  even  decent  shooting  at  any  range. 
Furthermore,  his  very  judgment  and  power  of  ob- 
servation were  so  obscured  that  he  could  not  re- 
member afterward  with  any  accuracy  what  had 
happened  —  which  way  the  beast  was  pointing,  how 
many  there  were  of  them,  in  which  direction  they 
went,  how  many  shots  were  fired,  in  short  all  the 
smaller  details  of  the  affair.  He  thought  he 
remembered.  After  the  show  was  over  it  was 
quite  amusing  to  get  his  version  of  the  incident. 
It  was  almost  always  so  wide  of  the  fact  as  to 
be  little  recognizable.  And,  mind  you,  he  was 
perfectly  sincere  in  his  belief,  and  absolutely 
courageous.  Only  he  was  quite  unfitted  by 
physical  make-up  for  a  big  game  hunter;  and  I  was 

68 


THE  FIRST  GAME  CAMP 

relieved  when,  after  a  short  time,  his  route  and 
mine  separated. 

Well,  we  clambered  up  that  slope  with  a  fine  com- 
pound of  tension,  expectation,  and  latent  uneasiness 
as  to  just  what  was  going  to  happen,  anyway. 
Finally,  we  raised  the  backs  of  the  beasts,  stooped, 
sneaked  a  little  nearer,  and  finally  at  a  signal  stood 
upright  perhaps  forty  yards  from  the  brutes. 

For  the  first  time  I  experienced  a  sensation  I  was 
destined  many  times  to  repeat  —  that  of  the  sheer 
size  of  the  animals.  Menagerie  rhinoceroses  had 
been  of  the  smaller  Indian  variety;  and  in  any  case 
most  menagerie  beasts  are  more  or  less  stunted. 
These  two,  facing  us,  their  little  eyes  blinking,  looked 
like  full-grown  ironclads  on  dry  land.  The  moment 
we  stood  erect  B.  fired  at  the  larger  of  the  two.  In- 
stantly they  turned  and  were  off  at  a  tearing  run. 
I  opened  fire,  and  B.  let  loose  his  second  barrel.  At 
about  two  hundred  and  fifty  yards  the  big  rhinoceros 
suddenly  fell  on  his  side,  while  the  other  continued 
his  flight.  It  was  all  over  —  very  exciting  because 
we  got  excited,  but  not  in  the  least  dangerous. 

The  boys  were  delighted,  for  here  was  meat  in 
plenty  for  everybody.  We  measured  the  beast, 
photographed  him,  marvelled  at  his  immense  size, 
and  turned  him  over  to  the  gunbearers  for  treatment. 
In  half  an  hour  or  so  a  long  string  of  porters  headed 

69 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

across  the  hills  in  the  direction  of  camp,  many  miles 
distant,  each  carrying  his  load  either  of  meat,  or  the 
trophies.  Rhinoceros  hide,  properly  treated,  becomes 
as  transparent  as  amber,  and  so  from  it  can  be 
made  many  very  beautiful  souvenirs,  such  as  bowls, 
trays,  paper  knives,  table  tops,  whips,  canes,  and 
the  like.  And,  of  course,  the  feet  of  one's  first 
rhino  are  always  saved  for  cigar  boxes  or  inkstands. 

Already  we  had  an  admiring  and  impatient  au- 
dience. From  all  directions  came  the  carrion  birds. 
They  circled  far  up  in  the  heavens;  they  shot  down- 
ward like  plummets  from  a  great  height  with  an 
inspiring  roar  of  wings;  they  stood  thick  in  a  solemn 
circle  all  around  the  scene  of  the  kill;  they  rose  with 
a  heavy  flapping  when  we  moved  in  their  direction. 
Skulking  forms  flashed  in  the  grass,  and  occasionally 
the  pointed  ears  of  a  jackal  would  rise  inquiringly.' 

It  was  by  now  nearly  noon.  The  sun  shone  clear 
and  hot;  the  heat  shimmer  rose  in  clouds  from  the 
brown  surface  of  the  hills.  In  all  directions  we  could 
make  out  small  gameherds  resting  motionless  in  the 
heat  of  the  day,  the  mirage  throwing  them  into  fan- 
tastic shapes.  While  the  final  disposition  was  being 
made  of  the  defunct  rhinoceros  I  wandered  over  the 
edge  of  the  hill  to  see  what  I  could  see,  and  fairly 
blundered  on  a  herd  of  oryx  at  about  a  hundred  and 
fifty  yards  range.  They  looked  at  me  a  startled 

70 


THE  FIRST  GAME  CAMP 

instant,  then  leaped  away  to  the  left  at  a  tremendous 
speed.  By  a  lucky  shot,  I  bowled  one  over.  He 
was  a  beautiful  beast,  with  his  black  and  white  face 
and  his  straight  rapierlike  horns  nearly  three  feet 
long,  and  I  was  most  pleased  to  get  him.  Memba 
Sasa  came  running  at  the  sound  of  the  shot.  We  set 
about  preparing  the  head. 

Then  through  a  gap  in  the  hills  far  to  the  left  we 
saw  a  little  black  speck  moving  rapidly  in  our  direc- 
tion. At  the  end  of  a  minute  we  could  make  it 
out  as  the  second  rhinoceros.  He  had  run  heaven 
knows  how  many  miles  away,  and  now  he  was 
returning;  whether  with  some  idea  of  rejoining  his 
companion  or  from  sheer  chance,  I  do  not  know. 
At  any  rate,  here  he  was,  still  ploughing  along  at  his 
swinging  trot.  His  course  led  him  along  a  side  hill 
about  four  hundred  yards  from  where  the  oryx  lay. 
When  he  was  directly  opposite  I  took  the  Spring- 
field and  fired,  not  at  him,  but  at  a  spot  five  or  six 
feet  in  front  of  his  nose.  The  bullet  threw  up  a 
column  of  dust.  Rhino  brought  up  short  with  as- 
tonishment, wheeled  to  the  left,  and  made  off  at  a 
gallop.  I  dropped  another  bullet  in  front  of  him. 
Again  he  stopped,  changed  direction,  and  made  off. 
For  the  third  time  I  hit  the  ground  in  front  of  him. 
Then  he  got  angry,  put  his  head  down  and  charged 
the  spot.  Five  more  shots  I  expended  on  the  amuse- 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

ment  of  that  rhinoceros;  and  at  the  last  had  him 
furiously  charging  back  and  forth  in  a  twenty-yard 
space,  very  angry  at  the  little  puffing,  screeching  bul- 
lets, but  quite  unable  to  catch  one.  Then  he  made 
up  his  mind  and  departed  the  way  he  had  come, 
finally  disappearing  as  a  little  rapidly  moving  black 
speck  through  the  gap  in  the  hills  where  we  had  first 
caught  sight  of  him. 

We  finished  caring  for  the  oryx,  and  returned  to 
camp.  To  our  surprise  we  found  we  were  at  least 
seven  or  eight  miles  out. 

In  this  fashion  days  passed  very  quickly.  The 
early  dewy  start  in  the  cool  of  the  morning,  the  grad- 
ual grateful  warming  up  of  sunrise,  and  immedi- 
ately after,  the  rest  during  the  midday  heats  under  a 
shady  tree,  the  long  trek  back  to  camp  at  sunset,  the 
hot  bath  after  the  toilsome  day  —  all  these  were 
very  pleasant.  Then  the  swift  falling  night,  and  the 
gleam  of  many  tiny  fires  springing  up  out  of  the 
darkness;  with  each  its  sticks  full  of  meat  roasting, 
and  its  little  circle  of  men,  their  skins  gleaming  in 
the  light.  As  we  sat  smoking,  we  would  become 
aware  that  M'ganga,  the  headman,  was  standing 
silent  awaiting  orders.  Some  one  would  happen  to 
see  the  white  of  his  eyes,  or  perhaps  he  might  smile 
so  that  his  teeth  would  become  visible.  Otherwise 
he  might  stand  there  an  hour,  and  no  one  the  wiser, 

72 


THE  FIRST  GAME  CAMP 

for  he  was  respectfully  silent,  and  exactly  the  colour 
of  the  night. 

We  would  indicate  to  him  our  plans  for  the  mor- 
row, and  he  would  disappear.  Then  at  a  distance  of 
twenty  or  thirty  feet  from  the  front  of  our  tents  a 
tiny  tongue  of  flame  would  lick  up.  Dark  figures 
could  be  seen  manipulating  wood.  A  blazing  fire 
sprang  up,  against  which  we  could  see  the  motionless 
and  picturesque  figure  of  Saa-sita  (Six  o'Clock),  the 
askari  of  the  first  night  watch,  leaning  on  his  musket. 
He  was  a  most  picturesque  figure,  for  his  fancy  ran 
to  original  headdresses,  and  at  the  moment  he  af- 
fected a  wonderful  upstanding  structure  made  of 
marabout  wings. 

At  this  sign  that  the  night  had  begun,  we  turned 
in.  A  few  hyenas  moaned,  a  few  jackals  barked: 
otherwise  the  first  part  of  the  night  was  silent,  for 
the  hunters  were  at  their  silent  business,  and  the 
hunted  were  "layin'  low  and  sayin'  nuffin'." 

Day  after  day  we  rode  out,  exploring  the  country 
in  different  directions.  The  great  uncertainty  as 
to  what  of  interest  we  would  find  filled  the  hours 
with  charm.  Sometimes  we  clambered  about  the 
cliffs  of  the  buttes  trying  to  find  klip-springers;  again 
we  ran  miles  pursuing  the  gigantic  eland.  I  in 
turn  got  my  first  rhinoceros,  with  no  more  danger 
than  had  attended  the  illing  of  B.'s.  On  this  oc- 

73 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

casion,  however,  I  had  my  first  experience  of  the 
lightning  skill  of  the  first-class  gimbearer.  Having 
fired  both  barrels,  and  staggered  the  beast,  I  threw 
open  the  breech  and  withdrew  the  empty  cartridges, 
intending,  of  course,  as  my  next  move  to  fish  two 
more  out  of  my  belt.  The  empty  shells  were  hardly 
away  from  the  chambers,  however,  when  a  long 
brown  arm  shot  over  my  right  shoulder  and  popped 
two  fresh  cartridges  in  the  breech.  So  astonished 
was  I  at  this  unexpected  apparition,  that  for  a  sec- 
ond or  so  I  actually  forgot  to  close  the  gun. 


74 


VII 
ON  THE  MARCH 

AFTER  leaving  the  First  Game  Camp,  we  trav- 
elled many  hours  and  miles  over  rolling  hills 
piling  ever  higher  and  higher  until  they  broke 
through  a  pass  to  illimitable  plains.  These  plains 
were  mantled  with  the  dense  scrub,  looking  from  a 
distance  and  from  above  like  the  nap  of  soft  green 
velvet.  Here  and  there  this  scrub  broke  in  round  or 
oval  patches  of  grass  plain.  Great  mountain  ranges 
peered  over  the  edge  of  a  horizon.  Lesser  moun- 
tain peaks  of  fantastic  shapes  —  sheer  Yosemite  cliffs, 
single  buttes,  castles  —  had  ventured  singly  from  be- 
hind that  same  horizon  barricade.  The  course  of  a 
river  was  marked  by  a  meandering  line  of  green 
jungle. 

It  took  us  two  days  to  get  to  that  river.  Our  in- 
termediate camp  was  halfway  down  the  pass.  We 
ousted  a  hundred  indignant  straw-coloured  monkeys 
and  twice  as  many  baboons  from  the  tiny  flat  above 
the  water  hole.  They  bobbed  away  cursing  over 
their  shoulders  at  us.  Next  day  we  debouched  on 

75 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

the  plains.  They  were  rolling,  densely  grown,  cov- 
ered with  volcanic  stones,  swarming  with  game  of 
various  sorts.  The  men  marched  well.  They  were 
happy,  for  they  had  had  a  week  of  meat;  and  each 
carried  a  light  lunch  of  sun-dried  biltong  or  jerky. 
Some  mistaken  individuals  had  attempted  to  bring 
along  some  "fresh"  meat.  We  found  it  advisable 
to  pass  to  windward  of  these;  but  they  themselves 
did  not  seem  to  mind. 

It  became  very  hot;  for  we  were  now  descending 
to  the  lower  elevations.  The  marching  through 
long  grass  and  over  volcanic  stones  was  not  easy. 
Shortly  we  came  out  on  stumbly  hills,  mostly  rock, 
very  dry,  grown  with  cactus  and  discouraged  desic- 
cated thorn  scrub.  Here  the  sun  reflected  powerfully 
and  the  bearers  began  to  flag. 

Then  suddenly,  without  warning,  we  pitched  over 
a  little  rise  to  the  river. 

No  more  marvellous  contrast  could  have  been 
devised.  From  the  blasted  barren  scrub  country 
we  plunged  into  the  lush  jungle.  It  was  not  a  very 
wide  jungle,  but  it  was  sufficient.  The  trees  were 
large  and  variegated,  reaching  to  a  high  and  spacious 
upper  story  above  the  ground  tangle.  From  the 
massive  limbs  hung  vines,  festooned  and  looped 
like  great  serpents.  Through  this  upper  corridor 
flitted  birds  of  bright  hue  or  striking  variegation. 

76 


ON  THE  MARCH 

We  did  not  know  many  of  them  by  name,  nor  did 
we  desire  to;  but  were  content  with  the  impression 
of  vivid  flashing  movement  and  colour.  Various 
monkeys  swung,  leaped  and  galloped  slowly  away 
before  our  advance;  pausing  to  look  back  at  us 
curiously,  the  ruffs  of  fur  standing  out  all  around 
their  little  black  faces.  The  lower  half  of  the  forest 
jungle,  however,  had  no  spaciousness  at  all,  but  a 
certain  breathless  intimacy.  Great  leaved  plants 
as  tall  as  little  trees,  and  trees  as  small  as  big  plants, 
bound  together  by  vines,  made  up  the  "deep  im- 
penetrable jungle"  of  our  childhood  imagining. 
Here  were  rustlings,  sudden  scurryings,  half-caught 
glimpses,  once  or  twice  a  crash  as  some  greater 
animal  made  off.  Here  and  there  through  the  thicket 
wandered  well  beaten  trails,  wide,  but  low,  so  that 
to  follow  them  one  would  have  to  bend  double. 
These  were  the  paths  of  rhinoceroses.  The  air  smelt 
warm  and  moist  and  earthy,  like  the  odour  of  a 
greenhouse. 

We  skirted  this  jungle  until  it  gave  way  to  let 
the  plain  down  to  the  river.  Then,  in  an  open  grove 
of  acacias,  and  fairly  on  the  river's  bank,  we  pitched 
our  tents. 

These  acacia  trees  were  very  noble  big  chaps,  with 
many  branches  and  a  thick  shade.  In  their  season 
they  are  wonderfullv  blossomed  with  white,  with 

77 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

yellow,  sometimes  even  with  vivid  red  flowers.  Be- 
neath them  was  only  a  small  matter  of  ferns  to  clear 
away. 

Before  us  the  sodded  bank  rounded  off  ten  feet  to 
the  river  itself.  At  this  point  far  up  in  its  youth  it 
was  a  friendly  river.  Its  noble  width  ran  over  shal- 
lows of  yellow  sand  or  of  small  pebbles.  Save  for 
unexpected  deep  holes  one  could  wade  across  it 
anywhere.  Yet  it  was  very  wide,  with  still  reaches 
of  water,  with  islands  of  gigantic  papyrus,  with  sand 
bars  dividing  the  current,  and  with  always  the  vista 
for  a  greater  or  lesser  distance  down  through  the 
jungle  along  its  banks.  From  our  canvas  chairs  we 
could  look  through  on  one  side  to  the  arid  country, 
and  on  the  other  to  this  tropical  wonderland. 

Yes,  at  this  point  in  its  youth  it  was  indeed  a 
friendly  river  in  every  sense  of  the  word.  There  are 
three  reasons,  ordinarily,  why  one  cannot  bathe  in 
the  African  rivers.  In  the  first  place,  they  are  nearly 
all  disagreeably  muddy;  in  the  second  place,  cold 
water  in  a  tropical  climate  causes  horrible  conges- 
tions; in  the  third  place  they  swarm  with  crocodiles 
and  hippos.  But  this  river  was  as  yet  unpolluted 
by  the  alluvial  soil  of  the  lower  countries;  the  sun 
on  its  shallows  had  warmed  its  waters  almost  to 
blood  heat;  and  the  beasts  found  no  congenial  haunts 
in  these  clear  shoals.  Almost  before  our  tents  were 

78 


ON  THE  MARCH 

up  the  men  were  splashing.  And  always  my  mental 
image  of  that  river's  beautiful  expanse  must  include 
round  black  heads  floating  like  gourds  where  the 
water  ran  smoothest. 

Our  tents  stood  all  in  a  row  facing  the  stream,  the 
great  trees  at  their  backs.  Down  in  the  grove  the 
men  had  pitched  their  little  white  shelters.  Hap- 
pily they  settled  down  to  ease.  Settling  down  to 
ease,  in  the  case  of  the  African  porter,  consists  in 
discarding  as  many  clothes  as  possible.  While  on 
the  march  he  wears  everything  he  owns;  whether 
from  pride  or  a  desire  to  simplify  transportation  I  am 
unable  to  say.  He  is  supplied  by  his  employer  with 
a  blanket  and  jersey.  As  supplemental  he  can 
generally  produce  a  half  dozen  white  man's  ill-as- 
sorted garments:  an  old  shooting  coat,  a  ragged  pair 
of  khaki  breeches,  a  kitchen  tablecloth  for  a  skirt,  or 
something  of  the  sort.  If  he  can  raise  an  overcoat 
he  is  happy,  especially  if  it  happen  to  be  a  long,  thick 
winter  overcoat.  The  possessor  of  such  a  garment 
will  wear  it  conscientiously  throughout  the  longest 
journey  and  during  the  hottest  noons.  But  when 
he  relaxes  in  camp,  he  puts  away  all  these  prideful 
possessions  and  turns  out  in  the  savage  simplicity 
of  his  red  blanket.  Draped  negligently,  sometimes 
very  negligently,  in  what  may  be  termed  semi-toga 
fashion,  he  stalks  about  or  squats  before  his  little 

79 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

fire  in  all  the  glory  of  a  regained  savagery.  The 
contrast  of  the  red  with  his  red  bronze  or  black  skin, 
the  freedom  and  grace  of  his  movements,  the  up- 
right carriage  of  his  fine  figure,  and  the  flickering 
savagery  playing  in  his  eyes  are  very  effective. 

Our  men  occupied  their  leisure  variously  and  hap- 
pily. A  great  deal  of  time  they  spent  before  their 
tiny  fires  roasting  meat  and  talking.  This  talk  was 
almost  invariably  of  specific  personal  experiences. 
They  bathed  frequently  and  with  pleasure.  They 
slept.  Between  times  they  fashioned  ingenious 
affairs  of  ornament  or  use:  bows  and  arrows,  throw- 
ing clubs,  snuff-boxes  of  the  tips  of  antelope  horns, 
bound  prettily  with  bright  wire,  wooden  swords 
beautifully  carved  in  exact  imitation  of  the  white 
man's  service  weapon,  and  a  hundred  other  such 
affairs.  At  this  particular  time  also  they  were  much 
occupied  in  making  sandals  against  the  thorns.  These 
were  flat  soles  of  rawhide,  the  edges  pounded  to 
make  them  curl  up  a  trifle  over  the  foot,  fastened  by 
thongs;  very  ingenious,  and  very  useful.  To  their 
task  they  brought  song.  The  labour  of  Africa  is 
done  to  song;  weird  minor  chanting  starting  high  in 
the  falsetto  to  trickle  unevenly  down  to  the  lower 
registers,  or  where  the  matter  is  one  of  serious  effort, 
an  antiphony  of  solo  and  chorus.  From  all  parts  of 
the  camp  come  these  softly  modulated  chantings, 

80 


- 

be 
O 


tt 

o 


ON  THE  MARCH 

low  and  sweet,  occasionally  breaking  into  full  voice 
as  the  inner  occasion  swells,  then  almost  immediately 
falling  again  to  the  murmuring  undertone  of  more 
concentrated  attention. 

The  red  blanket  was  generally  worn  knotted  from 
one  shoulder  or  bound  around  the  waist  Malay 
fashion.  When  it  turned  into  a  cowl,  with  a  miserable 
and  humpbacked  expression,  it  became  the  Official 
Badge  of  Illness.  No  matter  what  was  the  matter 
that  was  the  proper  thing  to  do  —  to  throw  the 
blanket  over  the  head  and  to  assume  as  miserable  a 
demeanour  as  possible.  A  sore  toe  demanded  just 
as  much  concentrated  woe  as  a  case  of  pneumonia. 

Sick  call  was  cried  after  the  day's  work  was 
finished.  Then  M'ganga  or  one  of  the  askaris  lifted 
up  his  voice. 

"N'gonjwa!  n'gonjwa!"  he  shouted;  and  at  the 
•shout  the  red  cowls  gathered  in  front  of  the  tent. 

Three  things  were  likely  to  be  the  matter:  too 
much  meat,  fever,  or  pus  infection  from  slight 
wounds.  To  these  in  the  rainy  season  would  be  added 
the  various  sorts  of  colds.  That  meant  either  Epsom 
salts,  quinine,  or  a  little  excursion  with  the  lancet  and 
permanganate.  The  African  traveller  gets  to  be 
heap  big  medicine  man  within  these  narrow  limits. 

All  the  red  cowls  squatted  miserably,  oh,  very 
miserably,  in  a  row.  The  headman  stood  over  them 

81 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

rather  fiercely.  We  surveyed  the  lot  contempla- 
tively, hoping  to  heaven  that  nothing  complicated 
was  going  to  turn  up.  One  of  the  tent  boys  hovered 
in  the  background  as  dispensing  chemist. 

"Well,"  said  F.  at  last,  "what's  the  matter  with 
you?" 

The  man  indicated  pointed  to  his  head  and  the 
back  of  his  neck  and  groaned.  If  he  had  a  slight 
headache  he  groaned  just  as  much  as  though  his 
head  were  splitting.  F.  asked  a  few  questions,  and 
took  his  temperature.  The  clinical  thermometer  is 
in  itself  considered  big  medicine,  and  often  does 
much  good. 

"Too  much  meat,  my  friend,"  remarked  F.  in 
English,  and  to  his  boy  in  Swahili,  "bring  the  cup." 

He  put  in  this  cup  a  triple  dose  of  Epsom  salts. 
The  African  requires  three  times  a  white  man's 
dose.  This,  pathologically,  was  all  that  was  re- 
quired: but  psychologically  the  job  was  just  begun. 
Your  African  can  do  wonderful  things  with  his  im- 
agination. If  he  thinks  he  is  going  to  die,  die  he 
will,  and  very  promptly,  even  though  he  is  ailing 
of  the  most  trivial  complaint.  If  he  thinks  he  is 
going  to  get  well,  he  is  very  apt  to  do  so  in  face  of 
extraordinary  odds.  Therefore  the  white  man  de- 
sires not  only  to  start  his  patient's  internal  economy 
with  Epsom  salts,  but  also  to  stir  his  faith.  To  this 

82 


ON  THE  MARCH 

end  F.  added  to  that  triple  dose  of  medicine  a  spoon- 
ful of  Chutney,  one  of  Worcestershire  sauce,  a  few 
grains  of  quinine,  Sparklets  water  and  a  crystal  or 
so  of  permanganate  to  turn  the  mixture  a  beautiful 
pink.  This  assortment  the  patient  drank  with 
gratitude  —  and  the  tears  running  down  his 
cheeks. 

"He  will  carry  a  load  to-morrow,"  F.  told  the  at- 
tentive M'ganga. 

The  next  patient  had  fever.  This  one  got  twenty 
grains  of  quinine  in  water. 

"This  man  carries  no  load  to-morrow,"  was  the 
direction,  "but  he  must  not  drop  behind." 

Two  or  three  surgical  cases  followed.  Then  a  big 
Kavirondo  rose  to  his  feet. 

"Nini?"  demanded  F. 

"Homa  —  fever,"  whined  the  man. 

F.  clapped  his  hand  on  the  back  of  the  other's  neck. 

"  I  think,"  he  remarked  contemplatively  in  Eng- 
lish, "that  you're  a  liar,  and  want  to  get  out  of 
carrying  your  load." 

The  clinical  thermometer  showed  no  evidence  of 
temperature. 

"I'm  pretty  near  sure  you're  a  liar,"  observed  F. 
in  the  pleasantest  conversational  tone  and  still  in 
English,  "but  you  may  be  merely  a  poor  diagnos- 
tician. Perhaps  your  poor  insides  couldn't  get  away 

83 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

with  that  rotten  meat  I  saw  you  lugging  around. 
We'll  see." 

So  he  mixed  a  pint  of  medicine. 

"There's  Epsom  salts  for  the  real  part  of  your 
trouble,"  observed  F.,  still  talking  to  himself,  "and 
here's  a  few  things  for  the  fake." 

He  then  proceeded  to  concoct  a  mixture  whose 
recoil  was  the  exact  measure  of  his  imagination. 
The  imagination  was  only  limited  by  the  necessity 
of  keeping  the  mixture  harmless.  Every  hot,  biting, 
nauseous  horror  in  camp  went  into  that  pint  measure. 

"There,"  concluded  F.,  "if  you  drink  that  and 
come  back  again  to-morrow  for  treatment,  I'll  be- 
lieve you  are  sick." 

Without  undue  pride  I  would  like  to  record  that  I 
was  the  first  to  think  of  putting  in  a  peculiarly 
nauseous  gun  oil,  and  thereby  acquired  a  reputation 
of  making  tremendous  medicine. 

So  implicit  is  this  faith  in  white  man's  medicine 
that  at  one  of  the  Government  posts  we  were  ap- 
proached by  one  of  the  secondary  chiefs  of  the  dis- 
trict. He  was  a  very  nifty  savage,  dressed  for  call- 
ing, with  his  hair  done  in  ropes  like  a  French  poo- 
dle's, his  skin  carefully  oiled  and  reddened,  his  arm- 
lets and  necklets  polished,  and  with  the  ceremonial 
ball  of  black  feathers  on  the  end  of  his  long  spear. 
His  gait  was  the  peculiar  mincing  teeter  of  savage 


{A  great  deal  of  time  they  spent  before  their  tiny  fires 
roasting  meat  and  talking." 


"Distributing  'potio'  or  rations  to  the  men." 


On  the  Northern  Guaso  Nyero  River. 


'At  this  point  far  up  in  its  youth  it  was  a  friendly  river.' 


ON  THE  MARCH 

conventional  society.  According  to  custom,  he 
approached  unsmiling,  spat  carefully  in  his  palm, 
and  shook  hands.  Then  he  squatted  and  waited. 

"What  is  it?"  we  asked  after  it  became  evident 
he  really  wanted  something  besides  the  pleasure  of 
our  company. 

"N'dowa  —  medicine,"  said  he. 

"Why  do  you  not  go  the  Government  dispen- 
sary?" we  demanded. 

"The  doctor  there  is  an  Indian;  I  want  real  medi- 
cine, white  man's  medicine,"  he  explained. 

Immensely  flattered,  of  course,  we  wanted  further 
to  know  what  ailed  him. 

"Nothing,"  said  he  blandly,  "nothing  at  all;  but  it 
seemed  an  excellent  chance  to  get  good  medicine." 

After  the  clinic  was  all  attended  to,  we  retired  to 
our  tents  and  the  screeching-hot  bath  so  grateful  in 
the  tropics.  When  we  emerged,  in  our  mosquito 
boots  and  pajamas,  the  daylight  was  gone.  Scores 
of  little  blazes  licked  and  leaped  in  the  velvet  black- 
ness round  about,  casting  the  undergrowth  and  the 
lower  branches  of  the  trees  into  flat  planes  like  the 
cardboard  of  a  stage  setting.  Cheerful,  squatted 
figures  sat  in  silhouette  or  in  the  relief  of  chance 
high  light.  Long  switches  of  meat  roasted  before 
the  fires.  A  hum  of  talk,  bursts  of  laughter,  the 
crooning  of  minor  chants  mingled  with  the  crack- 

85 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

ling  of  thorns.  .  Before  our  tents  stood  the  table  set 
for  supper.  Beyond  it  lay  the  pile  of  firewood, 
later  to  be  burned  on  the  altar  of  our  safety  against 
beasts.  The  moonlight  was  casting  milky  shadows 
over  the  river  and  under  the  trees  opposite.  In 
those  shadows  gleamed  many  fireflies.  Overhead 
were  millions  of  stars,  and  a  little  breeze  that  wan- 
dered through  upper  branches. 

But  in  Equatorial  Africa  the  simple  bands  of  vel- 
vet black  against  the  spangled  brightnesses  that 
make  up  the  visual  night  world,  must  give  way  in 
interest  to  the  other  world  of  sound.  The  air  hums 
with  an  undertone  of  insects;  the  plain  and  hill  and 
jungle  are  populous  with  voices  furtive  or  bold.  In 
daytime  one  sees  animals  enough,  in  all  conscience, 
but  only  at  night  does  he  sense  the  almost  oppres- 
sive feeling  of  the  teeming  life  about  him.  The  dark- 
ness is  peopled.  Zebra,  bark,  bucks  blow  or  snort 
or  make  the  weird  noises  of  their  respective  species; 
hyenas  howl;  out  of  an  immense  simian  silence  a 
group  of  monkeys  suddenly  break  into  chatterings; 
ostriches  utter  their  deep  hollow  boom;  small  things 
scurry  and  squeak;  a  certain  weird  bird  of  the  cur- 
lew or  plover  sort  wails  like  a  lonesome  soul.  Es- 
pecially by  the  river,  as  here,  are  the  boomings  of  the 
weirdest  of  weird  bullfrogs,  and  the  splashings  and 
swishings  of  crocodile  and  hippopotamus.  One  is 

86 


ON  THE  MARCH 

impressed  with  the  busyness  of  the  world  sur- 
rounding him;  every  bird  or  beast,  the  hunter  and 
the  hunted,  is  the  centre  of  many  important  affairs. 
The  world  swarms. 

And  then,  some  miles  away  a  lion  roars,  the  earth 
and  air  vibrating  to  the  sheer  power  of  the  sound. 
The  world  falls  to  a  blank  dead  silence.  For  a  full 
minute  every  living  creature  of  the  jungle  or  of  the 
veldt  holds  its  breath.  Their  lord  has  spoken. 

After  dinner  we  sat  in  our  canvas  chairs,  smoking. 
The  guard  fire  in  front  of  our  tent  had  been  lit.  On 
the  other  side  of  it  stood  one  of  our  askaris  leaning 
on  his  musket.  He  and  his  three  companions,  turn 
about,  keep  the  flames  bright  against  the  fiercer 
creatures. 

After  a  time  we  grew  sleepy.  I  called  Saa-sita 
and  entrusted  to  him  my  watch.  On  the  crystal  of 
this  I  had  pasted  a  small  piece  of  surgeon's  plaster. 
When  the  hour  hand  reached  the  surgeon's  plaster, 
he  must  wake  us  up.  Saa-sita  was  a  very  conscien- 
tious and  careful  man.  One  day  I  took  some  time 
hitching  my  pedometer  properly  to  his  belt:  I  could 
not  wear  it  effectively  myself  because  I  was  on  horse- 
back. At  the  end  of  the  ten-hour  march  it  regis- 
tered a  mile  and  a  fraction.  Saa-sita  explained  that 
he  wished  to  take  especial  care  of  it,  so  he  had  wrap- 
ped it  in  a  cloth  and  carried  it  all  day  in  his  hand! 

87 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

We  turned  in.  As  I  reached  over  to  extinguish 
the  lantern  I  issued  my  last  command  for  the  day. 

"Watcha  kalele,  Saa-sita,"  I  told  the  askari;  and 
at  once  he  lifted  up  his  voice  to  repeat  my  words. 
"Watcha  kalele!"  Immediately  from  the  Respon- 
sible all  over  camp  the  word  came  back  —  from 
gunbearers,  from  M'ganga,  from  tent  boys —  "kal- 
ele! kalele!  kalele!" 

Thus  commanded,  the  boisterous  fun,  the  low 
croon  of  intimate  talk,  the  gently  rising  and  falling 
tide  of  melody  fell  to  complete  silence.  Only  re- 
mained the  crackling  of  the  fire  and  the  innumer- 
able voices  of  the  tropical  night. 


88 


VIII 
THE  RIVER  JUNGLE 

WE  CAMPED  along  this  river  for  several 
weeks,  poking  indefinitely  and  happily  around 
the  country  in  all  directions  to  see  what  we  could  see. 
Generally  we  went  together,  for  neither  B.  nor  my- 
self had  been  tried  out  as  yet  on  dangerous  game  — 
those  easy  rhinos  hardly  counted  —  and  I  think  we 
both  preferred  to  feel  that  we  had  backing  until  we 
knew  what  our  nerves  were  going  to  do  with  us. 
Nevertheless,  occasionally,  I  would  take  Memba 
Sasa  and  go  out  for  a  little  purposeless  stroll  a  few 
miles  up  or  down  river.  Sometimes  we  skirted  the 
jungle,  sometimes  we  held  as  near  as  possible  to  the 
river's  bank,  sometimes  we  cut  loose  and  rambled 
through  the  dry,  crackling  scrub  over  the  low  vol- 
canic hills  of  the  arid  country  outside. 

Nothing  can  equal  the  intense  interest  of  the  most 
ordinary  walk  in  Africa.  It  is  the  only  country  I 
know  of  where  a  man  is  thoroughly  and  continu- 
ously alive.  Often  when  riding  horseback  with  the 
dogs  in  my  California  home  I  have  watched  them 

89 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

in  envy  of  the  keen,  alert  interest  they  took  in  every 
stone,  stick,  and  bush,  in  every  sight,  sound,  and 
smell.  With  equal  frequency  I  have  expressed  that 
envy,  but  as  something  unattainable  to  a  human 
being's  more  phlegmatic  make-up.  In  Africa  one 
actually  rises  to  continuous  alertness.  There  are  no 
dozy  moments  —  except  you  curl  up  in  a  safe  place 
for  the  purpose  of  dozing;  again  just  like  the  dog! 
Every  bush,  every  hollow,  every  high  tuft  of  grass, 
every  deep  shadow  must  be  scrutinized  for  danger. 
It  will  not  do  to  pass  carelessly  any  possible  lurking 
place.  At  the  same  time  the  sense  of  hearing  must 
be  on  guard;  so  that  no  break  of  twig  or  crash  of 
bough  can  go  unremarked.  Rhinoceroses  conceal 
themselves  most  cannily,  and  have  a  deceitful  habit 
of  leaping  from  a  nap  into  their  swiftest  stride. 
Cobras  and  puff  adders  are  scarce,  to  be  sure,  but 
very  deadly.  Lions  will  generally  give  way,  if  not 
shot  at  or  too  closely  pressed;  nevertheless  there  is 
always  the  chance  of  cubs  or  too  close  a  surprise. 
Buffalo  lurk  daytimes  in  the  deep  thickets,  but  oc- 
casionally a  rogue  bull  lives  where  your  trail  will 
lead.  These  things  do  not  happen  often,  but  in  the 
long  run  they  surely  do  happen,  and  once  is  quite 
enough  provided  the  beast  gets  in. 

At   first   this   continual  alertness    and   tension  is 
rather  exhausting;  but  after  a  very  short  time  it  be- 

90 


THE  RIVER  JUNGLE 

comes  second  nature.  A  sudden  rustle  the  other 
side  a  bush  no  longer  brings  you  up  all  standing  with 
your  heart  in  your  throat;  but  you  are  aware  of  it, 
and  you  are  facing  the  possible  danger  almost  before 
your  slower  brain  has  issued  any  orders  to  that  effect. 

In  rereading  the  above,  I  am  afraid  that  I  am 
conveying  the  idea  that  one  here  walks  under  the 
shadow  of  continual  uneasiness.  This  is  not  in  the 
least  so.  One  enjoys  the  sun,  and  the  birds  and  the 
little  things.  He  cultivates  the  great  leisure  of 
mind  that  shall  fill  the  breadth  of  his  outlook  abroad 
over  a  newly  wonderful  world.  But  underneath 
it  all  is  the  alertness,  the  responsiveness  to  quick 
reflexes  of  judgment  and  action,  the  intimate  corre- 
lations to  immediate  environment  which  must  char- 
acterize the  instincts  of  the  higher  animals.  And  it 
is  good  to  live  these  things. 

Along  the  edge  of  that  river  jungle  were  many 
strange  and  beautiful  affairs.  I  could  slip  along 
among  the  high  clumps  of  the  thicker  bushes  in  such 
a  manner  as  to  be  continually  coming  around  un- 
expected bends.  Of  such  manceuvres  are  surprises 
made.  The  graceful  red  impalla  were  here  very 
abundant.  I  would  come  on  them,  their  heads  up, 
their  great  ears  flung  forward,  their  noses  twitching 
in  inquiry  of  something  they  suspected  but  could  not 
fully  sense.  When  slightly  alarmed  or  suspicious 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

the  does  always  stood  compactly  in  a  herd,  while 
the  bucks  remained  discreetly  in  the  background, 
their  beautiful,  branching,  widespread  horns  showing 
over  the  backs  of  their  harems.  The  impalla  is, 
in  my  opinion,  one  of  the  most  beautiful  and  grace- 
ful of  the  African  bucks,  a  perpetual  delight  to 
watch  either  standing  or  running.  These  beasts  are 
extraordinarily  agile,  and  have  a  habit  of  breaking 
their  ordinary  fast  run  by  unexpectedly  leaping 
high  in  the  air.  At  a  distance  they  give  somewhat 
the  effect  of  dolphins  at  sea,  only  their  leaps  are 
higher  and  more  nearly  perpendicular.  Once  or 
twice  I  have  even  seen  one  jump  over  the  back  of 
another.  On  another  occasion  we  saw  a  herd  of 
twenty-five  or  thirty  cross  a  road  of  which,  evi- 
dently, they  were  a  little  suspicious.  We  could  not 
find  a  single  hoof  mark  in  the  dust!  Generally 
these  beasts  frequent  thin  brush  country;  but  I  have 
three  or  four  times  seen  them  quite  out  in  the  open 
flat  plains,  feeding  with  the  hartebeeste  and  zebra. 
They  are  about  the  size  of  our  ordinary  deer,  are 
delicately  fashioned,  and  can  utter  the  most  incon- 
gruously grotesque  of  noises  by  way  of  calls  or  or- 
dinary conversation. 

The  lack  of  curiosity,  or  the  lack  of  gallantry,  of 
the  impalla  bucks  was,  in  my  experience,  quite  char- 
acteristic. They  were  almost  always  the  farthest 

92 


THE  RIVER  JUNGLE 

in  the  background  and  the  first  away  when  danger 
threatened.  The  ladies  could  look  out  for  them- 
selves. They  had  no  horns  to  save;  and  what  do  the 
fool  women  mean  by  showing  so  little  sense,  any- 
way! They  deserve  what  they  get!  It  used  to 
amuse  me  a  lot  to  observe  the  utter  abandonment 
of  all  responsibility  by  these  handsome  gentlemen. 
When  it  came  time  to  depart,  they  departed. 
Hang  the  girls!  They  trailed  along  after  as  fast 
as  they  could. 

The  waterbuck  —  a  fine  large  beast  about  the 
size  of  our  caribou,  a  well-conditioned  buck  resem- 
bling in  form  and  attitude  the  finest  of  Landseer's 
stags  —  on  the  other  hand,  had  a  little  more  sense 
of  responsibility,  when  he  had  anything  to  do  with 
the  sex  at  all.  He  was  hardly  what  you  might  call 
a  strictly  domestic  character.  I  have  hunted 
through  a  country  for  several  days  at  a  time  with- 
out seeing  a  single  mature  buck  of  this  species,  al- 
though there  were  plenty  of  does,  in  herds  of  ten  to 
fifty,  with  a  few  infants  among  them  just  sprouting 
horns.  Then  finally,  in  some  small  grassy  valley, 
I  would  come  on  the  Men's  Club.  There  they  were, 
ten,  twenty,  three  dozen  of  them,  having  the  finest 
kind  of  an  untramelled  masculine  time  all  by  them- 
selves. Generally,  however,  I  will  say  for  them, 
they  took  care  of  their  own  peoples.  There  would 

93 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

quite  likely  be  one  big  old  fellow,  his  harem  of  vary- 
ing numbers,  and  the  younger  subordinate  bucks  all 
together  in  a  happy  family.  When  some  one  of  the 
lot  announced  that  something  was  about,  and  they 
had  all  lined  up  to  stare  in  the  suspected  direction, 
the  big  buck  was  there  in  the  foreground  of  inquiry. 
When  finally  they  made  me  out,  it  was  generally  the 
big  buck  who  gave  the  signal.  He  went  first,  to  be 
sure,  but  his  going  first  was  evidently  an  act  of 
leadership,  and  not  merely  a  disgraceful  desire  to 
get  away  before  the  rest  did. 

But  the  waterbuck  had  to  yield  in  turn  to  the 
plains  gazelles;  especially  to  the  Thompson's  gazelle, 
familiarly  —  and  affectionately  —  known  as  the 
"Tommy."  He  is  a  quaint  little  chap,  standing 
only  a  foot  and  a  half  tall  at  the  shoulder,  fawn  col- 
our on  top,  white  beneath,  with  a  black,  horizontal 
stripe  on  his  side,  like  a  chipmunk,  most  lightly  and 
gracefully  built.  When  he  was  first  made,  some- 
body told  him  that  unless  he  did  something  char- 
acteristic, like  waggling  his  little  tail,  he  was  likely 
to  be  mistaken  by  the  undiscriminating  for  his  big- 
ger cousin,  the  Grant's  gazelle.  He  has  waggled 
his  tail  ever  since,  and  so  is  almost  never  mistaken 
for  a  Grant's  gazelle,  even  by  the  undiscriminating. 
Evidently  his  religion  is  Mohammedan,  for  he  al- 
ways has  a  great  many  wives.  He  takes  good  care 

94 


THE  RIVER  JUNGLE 

of  them,  however.  When  danger  appears,  even  when 
danger  threatens,  he  is  the  last  to  leave  the  field. 
Here  and  there  he  dashes  frantically,  seeing  that  the 
women  and  children  get  off.  And  when  the  herd 
tops  the  hill,  Tommy's  little  horns  bring  up  the  rear 
of  the  procession.  I  like  Tommy.  He  is  a  cheerful, 
gallant,  quaint  little  person,  with  the  air  of  being 
quite  satisfied  with  his  own  solution  of  this  compli- 
cated world. 

Among  the  low  brush  at  the  edge  of  the  river  jun- 
gle dwelt  also  the  dik-dik,  the  tiniest  miniature  of  a 
deer  you  could  possibly  imagine.  His  legs  are  lead 
pencil  size,  he  stands  only  about  nine  inches  tall, 
he  weighs  from  five  to  ten  pounds;  and  yet  he  is  a 
perfect  little  antelope,  horns  and  all.  I  used  to  see 
him  singly  or  in  pairs  standing  quite  motionless  and 
all  but  invisible  in  the  shade  of  bushes;  or  leaping 
suddenly  to  his  feet  and  scurrying  away  like  mad 
through  the  dry  grass.  His  personal  opinion  of  me 
was  generally  expressed  in  a  loud  clear  whistle. 
But  then  nobody  in  this  strange  country  talks  the 
language  you  would  naturally  expect  him  to  talk! 
Zebra  bark,  hyenas  laugh,  impallas  grunt,  ostriches 
boom  like  drums,  leopards  utter  a  plaintive  sigh, 
hornbills  cry  like  a  stage  child,  bushbucks  sound 
like  a  cross  between  a  dog  and  a  squawky  toy  — 
and  so  on.  There  is  only  one  safe  rule  for  the  nov- 

95 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

ice  in  Africa :  never  believe  a  word  the  jungle  and  veldt 
people  tell  you! 

These  two  —  the  impalla  and  the  waterbuck  — 
were  the  principal  buck  we  would  see  close  to  the 
river.  Occasionally,  however,  we  came  on  a  few 
oryx,  down  for  a  drink,  beautiful  big  antelope,  with 
white  and  black  faces,  reached  manes,  and  straight, 
nearly  parallel,  rapier  horns  upward  of  three  feet 
long.  A  herd  of  these  creatures,  the  light  gleaming 
on  their  weapons,  held  all  at  the  same  slant,  was  like  a 
regiment  of  bayonets  in  the  sun.  And  there  were  also 
the  rhinoceroses  to  be  carefully  espied  and  avoided. 
They  lay  obliterated  beneath  the  shade  of  bushes, 
and  arose  with  a  mighty  blow-off  of  steam.  Where- 
upon we  withdrew  silently,  for  we  wanted  to  shoot 
no  more  rhinos,  unless  we  had  to. 

Beneath  all  these  obvious  and  startling  things, 
a  thousand  other  interesting  matters  were  afoot.  In 
the  mass  and  texture  of  the  jungle  grew  many  strange 
trees  and  shrubs.  One  most  scrubby,  fat  and  leaf- 
less tree,  looking  as  though  it  were  just  about  to 
give  up  a  discouraged  existence,  surprised  us  by  put- 
ting forth,  apparently  directly  from  its  bloated  wood, 
the  most  wonderful  red  blossoms.  Another  other- 
wise self-respecting  tree  hung  itself  all  over  with 
plump  bologna  sausages  about  two  feet  long  and 
five  inches  thick.  A  curious  vine  hung  like  a  rope, 

96 


THE  RIVER  JUNGLE 

with  Turk's-head  knots  about  a  foot  apart  on  its 
whole  length,  like  the  hand-over-hand  ropes  of 
gymnasiums.  Other  ropes  were  studded  all  over 
with  thick  blunt  bosses,  resembling  much  the  out- 
break on  one  sort  of  Arts-and-Crafts  door:  the  sort 
intended  to  repel  Mail-clad  Hosts. 

The  monkeys  undoubtedly  used  such  obvious 
highways  through  the  trees.  These  little  people 
were  very  common.  As  we  walked  along,  they 
withdrew  before  us.  We  could  make  out  their 
figures  galloping  hastily  across  the  open  places, 
mounting  bushes  and  stubs  to  take  a  satisfying 
backward  look,  clambering  to  treetops,  and  launch- 
ing themselves  across  the  abysses  between  limbs. 
If  we  went  slowly,  they  retired  in  silence.  If  we 
hurried  at  all,  they  protested  in  direct  ratio  to  the 
speed  of  our  advance.  And  when  later  the  whole 
safari,  loads  on  heads,  marched  inconsiderately 
through  their  jungle !  We  happened  to  be  hunting  on 
a  parallel  course  a  half  mile  away,  and  we  could 
trace  accurately  the  progress  of  our  men  by  the  out- 
raged shrieks,  chatterings,  appeals  to  high  heaven  for 
at  least  elemental  justice  to  the  monkey  people. 

Often,  too,  we  would  come  on  concourses  of  the 
big  baboons.  They  certainly  carried  on  weighty 
affairs  of  their  own  according  to  a  fixed  polity.  I 
never  got  well  enough  acquainted  with  them  to 

97 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

master  the  details  of  their  government,  but  it  was 
indubitably  built  on  patriarchal  lines.  When  we 
succeeded  in  approaching  without  being  discovered, 
we  would  frequently  find  the  old  men  baboons  squat- 
ting on  their  heels  in  a  perfect  circle,  evidently  dis- 
cussing matters  of  weight  and  portent.  Seen  from 
a  distance,  their  group  so  much  resembled  the  coun- 
cil circles  of  native  warriors  that  sometimes,  in  a 
native  country,  we  made  that  mistake.  Outside 
this  solemn  council,  the  women,  young  men  and 
children  went  about  their  daily  business,  what- 
ever that  was.  Up  convenient  low  trees  or  bushes 
roosted  sentinels. 

We  never  remained  long  undiscovered.  One  of 
the  sentinels  barked  sharply.  At  once  the  whole 
lot  loped  away,  speedily  but  With  a  curious  effect 
of  deliberation.  The  men  folks  held  their  tails  in 
a  proud  high  sideways  arch;  the  curious  youngsters 
clambered  up  bushes  to  take  a  hasty  look;  the 
babies  clung  desperately  with  all  four  feet  to  the 
thick  fur  on  their  mothers'  backs;  the  mothers  gal- 
loped along  imperturbably  unheeding  of  infantile 
troubles  aloft.  The  side  hill  was  bewildering  with 
the  big  bobbing  black  forms. 

In  this  lower  country  the  weather  was  hot,  and 
the  sun  very  strong.  The  heated  air  was  full  of 
the  sounds  of  insects;  some  of  them  comfortable, 

98 


THE  RIVER  JUNGLE 

like  the  buzzing  of  bees,  some  of  them  strange  and 
unusual  to  us.  One  cicada  had  a  sustained  note,  in 
quality  about  like  that  of  our  own  August-day's 
friend,  but  in  quantity  and  duration  as  the  roar  of  a 
train  to  the  gentle  hum  of  a  good  motor  car.  Like  all 
cicada  noises  it  did  not  usurp  the  sound  world,  but 
constituted  itself  an  underlying  basis,  so  to  speak. 
And  when  it  stopped  the  silence  seemed  to  rush  in  as 
into  a  vacuum! 

We  had  likewise  the  aeroplane  beetle.  He  was  so 
big  that  he  would  have  made  good  wing-shooting. 
His  manner  of  flight  was  the  straight-ahead,  heap- 
of-buzz,  plenty-busy,  don't-stop-a-minute-or-you'll- 
come-down  method  of  the  aeroplane;  and  he  made 
the  same  sort  of  a  hum.  His  first-cousin,  mechan- 
ically, was  what  we  called  the  wind-up-the-watch 
insect.  This  specimen  possessed  a  watch  —  an 
old-fashioned  Waterbury,  evidently  —  that  he  was 
continually  winding.  It  must  have  been  hard  work 
for  the  poor  chap,  for  it  sounded  like  a  very  big 
watch. 

All  these  things  were  amusing.  So  were  the  birds. 
The  African  bird  is  quite  inclined  to  be  didactic. 
He  believes  you  need  advice,  and  he  means  to  give  it. 
To  this  end  he  repeats  the  same  thing  over  and  over 
until  he  thinks  you  surely  cannot  misunderstand. 
One  chap  especially  whom  we  called  the  lawyer  bird, 

99 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

and  who  lived  in  the  treetops,  had  four  phrases  to 
impart.  He  said  them  very  deliberately,  with  due 
pause  between  each;  then  he  repeated  them  rapidly; 
finally  he  said  them  all  over  again  with  an  exasper- 
ated bearing-down  emphasis.  The  joke  of  it  is  I 
cannot  now  remember  just  how  they  went!  An- 
other feathered  pedagogue  was  continually  warning 
us  to  go  slow;  very  good  advice  near  an  African 
jungle.  "Poley-poley!  poley-poley!"  he  warned 
again  and  again;  which  is  good  Swahili  for  "slowly! 
slowly!"  We  always  minded  him.  There  v  ere 
many  others,  equally  impressed  with  their  own  wis- 
dom, but  the  one  I  remember  with  most  amusement 
was  a  dilatory  person  who  apparently  never  got 
around  to  his  job  until  near  sunset.  Evidently  he 
had  contracted  to  deliver  just  so  many  warnings 
per  diem:  and  invariably  he  got  so  busy  chasing 
insects,  enjoying  the  sun,  gossiping  with  a  friend, 
and  generally  footling  about  that  the  late  afternoon 
caught  him  unawares  with  never  a  chirp  accom- 
plished. So  he  sat  in  a  bush  and  said  his  say  over 
and  over  just  as  fast  as  he  could  without  pause  for 
breath  or  recreation.  It  was  really  quite  a  feat. 
Just  at  dusk,  after  two  hours  of  gabbling,  he  would 
reach  the  end  of  his  contracted  number.  With  a 
final  relieved  chirp  he  ended. 
It  has  been  said  that  African  birds  arc  "songless," 
zoo 


THE  RIVER  JUNGLE 

This  is  a  careless  statement  that  can  easily  be  read 
to  mean  that  African  birds  are  silent.  The  writer 
evidently  must  have  had  in  mind  as  a  criterion  some 
of  our  own  or  the  English  great  feathered  soloists. 
Certainly  the  African  jungle  seems  to  produce  no 
individual  performers  as  sustained  as  our  own  bob- 
o-link,  our  hermit  thrush,  or  even  our  common  robin. 
But  the  African  birds  are  vocal  enough,  for  all  that. 
Some  of  them  have  a  richness  and  depth  of  timbre 
perhaps  unequalled  elsewhere.  Of  such  is  the  chime- 
bint  with  his  deep  double  note;  or  the  bell-bird  toll- 
ing like  a  cathedral  in  the  blackness  of  the  forest; 
or  the  bottle  bird  that  apparently  pours  gurgling 
liquid  gold  from  a  silver  jug.  As  the  jungle  is  ex- 
ceedingly populous  of  these  feathered  specialists,  it 
follows  that  the  early  morning  chorus  is  wonderful. 
Africa  may  not  possess  the  soloists,  but  its  full  or- 
chestrial  effects  are  superb. 

Naturally  under  the  equator  one  expects  and  de- 
mands the  "gorgeous  tropical  plumage"  of  the  books. 
He  is  not  disappointed.  The  sun-birds  of  fifty  odd 
species,  the  brilliant  blue  starlings,  the  various  par- 
rots, the  variegated  hornbills,  the  widower-birds, 
and  dozens  of  others  whose  names  would  mean  noth- 
ing flash  here  and  there  in  the  shadow  and  in  the 
open.  With  them  are  hundreds  of  quiet  little  bod- 
ies just  as  interesting  to  one  who  likes  birds.  From 

101 


THE, LAST  FRONTIER 

the  trees  and  bushes  hang  pear-shaped  nests  plaited 
beautifully  of  long  grasses,  hard  and  smooth  as 
hand-made  baskets,  the  work  of  the  various  sorts  of 
weaver-birds.  In  the  tops  of  the  trees  roosted  tall 
marabout  storks  like  dissipated,  hairless  old  club- 
men in  well-groomed,  correct  evening  dress. 

And  around  camp  gathered  the  swift  brown  kites. 
They  were  robbers  and  villains,  but  we  could  not 
hate  them.  All  day  long  they  sailed  back  and  forth 
spying  sharply.  When  they  thought  they  saw  their 
chance,  they  stooped  with  incredible  swiftness  to 
seize  a  piece  of  meat.  Sometimes  they  would  snatch 
their  prize  almost  from  the  hands  of  its  rightful 
owner,  and  would  swoop  triumphantly  upward 
again  pursued  by  polyglot  maledictions  and  a 
throwing  stick.  They  were  very  skilful  on  their 
wings.  I  have  many  times  seen  them,  while  flying, 
tear  up  and  devour  large  chunks  of  meat.  It  seems 
to  my  inexperience  as  an  aviator  rather  a  nice  feat 
to  keep  your  balance  while  tearing  with  your  beak 
at  meat  held  in  your  talons.  Regardless  of  other 
landmarks,  we  always  knew  when  we  were  nearing 
camp,  after  one  of  our  strolls,  by  the  gracefully 
wheeling  figures  of  our  kites. 


102 


IX 
THE  FIRST  LION 

ONE  day  we  all  set  out  to  make  our  discoveries 
— F.,  B.,  and  I  with  our  gunbearers,  Memba 
Sasa,  Mavrouki,  and  Simba,  and  ten  porters  to 
bring  in  the  trophies,  which  we  wanted  very  much, 
and  the  meat,  which  the  men  wanted  still  more.  We 
rode  our  horses,  and  the  syces  followed.  This 
made  quite  a  field  force  —  nineteen  men  all  told. 
Nineteen  white  men  would  be  exceedingly  unlikely 
to  get  within  a  liberal  half  mile  of  anything;  but  the 
native  has  sneaky  ways. 

At  first  we  followed  between  the  river  and  the  low 
hills,  but  when  the  latter  drew  back  to  leave  open  a 
broad  flat,  we  followed  their  line.  At  this  point 
they  rose  to  a  clifflike  headland  a  hundred  and  fifty 
feet  high,  flat  on  top.  We  decided  to  investigate 
that  mesa,  both  for  the  possibilities  of  game,  and  for 
the  chance  of  a  view  abroad. 

The  footing  was  exceedingly  noisy  and  treacher- 
ous, for  it  was  composed  of  flat,  tinkling  little  stones. 
Dried-up,  skimpy  bushes  just  higher  than  our  heads 

103 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

made  a  thin  but  regular  cover.  There  seemed  not 
to  be  a  spear  of  anything  edible,  yet  we  caught  the 
flash  of  red  as  a  herd  of  impalla  melted  away  at  our 
rather  noisy  approach.  Near  the  foot  of  the  hill 
we  dismounted,  with  orders  to  all  the  men  but  the 
gunbearers  to  sit  down  and  make  themselves  com- 
fortable. Should  we  need  them  we  could  easily 
either  signal  or  send  word.  Then  we  set  ourselves 
toilsomely  to  clamber  up  that  volcanic  hill. 

It  was  not  particularly  easy  going,  especially  as 
we  were  trying  to  walk  quietly.  You  see,  we  were 
about  to  surmount  a  skyline.  Surmounting  a  sky- 
line is  always  most  exciting  anywhere,  for  what  lies 
beyond  is  at  once  revealed  as  a  whole  and  contains 
the  very  essence  of  the  unknown;  but  most  decidedly 
is  this  true  in  Africa.  That  mesa  looked  flat,  and 
almost  anything  might  be  grazing  or  browsing  there. 
So  we  proceeded  gingerly,  with  due  regard  to  the 
rolling  of  the  loose  rocks  or  the  tinkling  of  the  little 
pebbles. 

But  long  before  we  had  reached  that  alluring  sky- 
line we  were  halted  by  the  gentle  snapping  of  Mav- 
rouki's  fingers.  That,  strangely  enough,  is  a  sound 
to  which  wild  animals  seem  to  pay  no  attention,  and 
is  therefore  most  useful  as  a  signal.  We  looked  back. 
The  three  gunbearers  were  staring  to  the  right  of  our 
course.  About  a  hundred  yards  away,  on  the  steep 

104 


THE  FIRST  LION 

side  hill,  and  partly  concealed  by  the  brush,  stood 
two  rhinoceroses. 

They  were  side  by  side,  apparently  dozing.  We 
squatted  on  our  heels  for  a  consultation. 

The  obvious  thing,  as  the  wind  was  from  them, 
was  to  sneak  quietly  by,  saying  nuffin'  to  nobody. 
But  although  we  wanted  no  more  rhino,  we  very 
much  wanted  rhino  pictures.  A  discussion  de- 
veloped no  really  good  reason  why  we  should  not 
kodak  these  especial  rhinos  —  except  that  there 
were  two  of  them.  So  we  began  to  worm  our  way 
quietly  through  the  bushes  in  their  direction. 

F.  and  B.  deployed  on  the  flanks,  their  double- 
barrelled  rifles  ready  for  instant  action.  I  occupied 
the  middle  with  that  dangerous  weapon  the  3  A 
kodak.  Memba  Sasa  followed  at  my  elbow,  hold- 
ing my  big  gun. 

Now  the  trouble  with  modern  photography  is 
that  it  is  altogether  too  lavish  in  its  depiction  of  dis- 
tances. If  you  do  not  believe  it,  take  a  picture  of  a 
horse  at  as  short  a  range  as  twenty-five  yards. 
That  equine  will,  in  the  development,  have  receded  to 
a  respectable  middle  distance.  Therefore  it  had 
been  agreed  that  the  advance  of  the  battle  line  was 
to  cease  only  when  those  rhinoceroses  loomed  up  rea- 
sonably large  in  the  finder.  I  kept  looking  into 
the  finder,  you  may  be  sure.  Nearer  and  nearer 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

we  crept.  The  great  beasts  were  evidently  basking 
in  the  sun.  Their  little  pig  eyes  alone  gave  any  sign 
of  life.  Otherwise  they  exhibited  the  complete 
immobility  of  something  done  in  granite.  Prob- 
ably no  other  beast  impresses  one  with  quite  this 
quality.  I  suppose  it  is  because  even  the  little 
motions  peculiar  to  other  animals  are  with  the  rhinoc- 
eros entirely  lacking.  He  is  not  in  the  least  of  a 
nervous  disposition,  so  he  does  not  stamp  his  feet 
nor  change  his  position.  It  is  useless  for  him  to  wag 
his  tail;  for,  in  the  first  place,  the  tail  is  absurdly 
inadequate;  and,  in  the  second  place,  flies  are  not 
among  his  troubles.  Flies  wouldn't  bother  you 
either,  if  you  had  a  skin  two  inches  thick.  So  there 
they  stood,  inert  and  solid  as  two  huge  brown  rocks, 
save  for  the  deep,  wicked  twinkle  of  their  little  eyes. 

Yes,  we  were  close  enough  to  "see  the  whites  of 
their  eyes,"  if  they  had  had  any:  and  also  to  be 
within  the  range  of  their  limited  vision.  Of  course 
we  were  now  stalking,  and  taking  advantage  of  all 
the  cover. 

Those  rhinoceroses  looked  to  me  like  two  Dread- 
naughts.  The  African  two-horned  rhinoceros  is  a 
bigger  animal  anyway  than  our  circus  friend,  who 
generally  comes  from  India.  One  of  these  brutes 
I  measured  went  five  feet  nine  inches  at  the  shoulder, 
and  was  thirteen  feet  six  inches  from  bow  to  stern. 

106 


THE  FIRST  LION 

Compare  these  dimensions  with  your  own  height 
and  with  the  length  of  your  motor  car.  It  is  one 
thing  to  take  on  such  beasts  in  the  hurry  of  surprise, 
the  excitement  of  a  charge,  or  to  stalk  up  to  within  a 
respectable  range  of  them  with  a  gun  at  ready. 
But  this  deliberate  sneaking  up  with  the  hope  of 
being  able  to  sneak  away  again  was  a  little  too  slow 
and  cold-blooded.  It  made  me  nervous.  I  liked 
it,  but  I  knew  at  the  time  I  was  going  to  like  it  a 
whole  lot  better  when  it  was  triumphantly  over. 

We  were  now  within  twenty  yards  (they  were 
standing  starboard  side  on),  and  I  prepared  to  get 
my  picture.  To  do  so  I  would  either  have  to  step 
quietly  out  into  sight,  trusting  to  the  shadow  and 
the  slowness  of  my  movements  to  escape  observa- 
tion, or  hold  the  camera  above  the  bush,  directing 
it  by  guess  work.  It  was  a  little  difficult  to  decide. 
I  knew  what  I  ought  to  do 

Without  the  slightest  premonitory  warning  those 
two  brutes  snorted  and  whirled  in  their  tracks  to 
stand  facing  in  our  direction.  After  the  dead  still- 
ness they  made  a  tremendous  row,  what  with  the 
jerky  suddenness  of  their  movements,  their  loud 
snorts,  and  the  avalanche  of  echoing  stones  and  boul- 
ders they  started  down  the  hill. 

This  was  the  magnificent  opportunity.  At  this 
point  I  should  boldly  have  stepped  out  from  behind 

107 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

my  bush,  levelled  my  trusty  3  A,  and  coolly  snapped 
the  beasts,  "charging  at  fifteen  yards."  Then,  if 
B.'s  and  F.'s  shots  went  absolutely  true,  or  if  the 
brutes  didn't  happen  to  smash  the  camera  as  well 
as  me,  I,  or  my  executors  as  the  case  might  be, 
would  have  had  a  fine  picture. 

But  I  didn't.  I  dropped  that  expensive  3A 
Special  on  some  hard  rocks,  and  grabbed  my  rifle 
from  Memba  Sasa.  If  you  want  really  to  know 
why,  go  confront  your  motor  car  at  fifteen  or  twenty 
paces,  multiply  him  by  two,  and  endow  him  with 
an  eagerly  malicious  disposition. 

They  advanced  several  yards,  halted,  faced  us 
for  perhaps  five  or  six  seconds,  uttered  another 
snort,  whirled  with  the  agility  of  polo  ponies,  and 
departed  at  a  swinging  trot  and  with  surprising 
agility  along  the  steep  side  hill. 

I  recovered  the  camera,  undamaged,  and  we  con- 
tinued our  climb. 

The  top  of  the  mesa  was  disappointing  as  far  as 
game  was  concerned.  It  was  covered  all  over  with 
red  stones,  round,  and  as  large  as  a  man's  head. 
Thornbushes  found  some  sort  of  sustenance  in  the 
interstices. 

But  we  had  gained  to  a  magnificent  view.  Before 
us  lay  the  narrow  flat,  then  the  winding  jungle  of  our 
river,  then  long  rolling  desert  country,  gray  with 

108 


THE  FIRST  LION 

thorn  scrub,  sweeping  upward  to  the  base  of  cas- 
tellated buttes  and  one  tremendous  riven  cliff  moun- 
tain, dropping  over  the  horizon  to  a  very  distant 
blue  range.  Behind  us  eight  or  ten  miles  away  was 
the  low  ridge  through  which  our  journey  had  come. 
The  mesa  on  which  we  stood  broke  back  at  right 
angles  to  admit  another  stream  flowing  into  our 
own.  Beyond  this  stream  were  rolling  hills,  and 
scrub  country,  the  hint  of  blue  peaks  and  illimitable 
distances  falling  away  to  the  unknown  Tara  Desert 
and  the  sea. 

There  seemed  to  be  nothing  much  to  be  gained 
here,  so  we  made  up  our  minds  to  cut  across  the 
mesa,  and  from  the  other  edge  of  it  to  overlook  the 
valley  of  the  tributary  river.  This  we  would  de- 
scend until  we  came  to  our  horses. 

Accordingly  we  stumbled  across  a  mile  or  so  of 
those  round  and  rolling  stones.  Then  we  found  our- 
selves overlooking  a  wide  flat  or  pocket  where  the 
stream  valley  widened.  It  extended  even  as  far 
as  the  upward  fling  of  the  barrier  ranges.  Thick 
scrub  covered  it,  but  erratically,  so  that  here  and 
there  were  little  openings  or  thin  places.  We  sat 
down,  manned  our  trusty  prism  glasses,  and  gave 
ourselves  to  the  pleasing  occupation  of  looking  the 
country  over  inch  by  inch. 

This  is  great  fun,  It  is  a  game  a  good  deal  like 
loo 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

puzzle  pictures.  Re-examination  generally  de- 
velops new  and  unexpected  beasts.  We  repeated 
to  each  other  aloud  the  results  of  our  scrutiny, 
always  without  removing  the  glasses  from  our 
eyes. 

"Oryx,  one,"  said  F. ;  "oryx,  two." 
"Giraffe,"  reported  B.,  "and  a  herd  of  impalla." 
I  saw  another  giraffe,  and  another  oryx,  then  two 
rhinoceroses. 

The  three  gunbearers  squatted  on  their  heels  be- 
hind us,  their  fierce  eyes  staring  straight  ahead, 
seeing  with  the  naked  eye  what  we  were  finding  with 
six-power  glasses. 

We  turned  to  descend  the  hill.  In  the  very  centre 
of  the  deep  shade  of  a  clump  of  trees,  I  saw  the  gleam 
of  a  waterbuck's  horns.  While  I  was  telling  of  this, 
the  beast  stepped  from  his  concealment,  trotted  a 
short  distance  upstream  and  turned  to  climb  a  little 
ridge  parallel  to  that  by  which  we  were  descending. 
About  halfway  up  he  stopped,  staring  in  our  direc- 
tion, his  head  erect,  the  slight  ruff  under  his  neck 
standing  forward.  He  was  a  good  four  hundred 
yards  away.  B.,  who  wanted  him,  decided  the  shot 
too  chancy.  He  and  F.  slipped  backward  until  they 
had  gained  the  cover  of  the  little  ridge,  then  has- 
tened down  the  bed  of  the  ravine.  Their  purpose 
was  to  follow  the  course  already  taken  by  the  water- 
no 


THE  FIRST  LION 

buck  until  they  should  have  sneaked  within  better 
range.  In  the  meantime  I  and  the  gunbearers  sat 
down  in  full  view  of  the  buck.  This  was  to  keep  his 
attention  distracted. 

We  sat  there  a  long  time.  The  buck  never  moved 
but  continued  to  stare  at  what  evidently  puzzled 
him  Time  passes  very  slowly  in  such  circumstances, 
and  it  seemed  incredible  that  the  beast  should 
continue  much  longer  to  hold  his  fixed  attitude. 
Nevertheless  B.  and  F.  were  working  hard.  We 
caught  glimpses  of  them  occasionally  slipping  from 
bush  to  bush.  Finally  B.  knelt  and  levelled  his 
rifle.  At  once  I  turned  my  glasses  on  the  buck. 
Before  the  sound  of  the  rifle  had  reached  me,  I  saw 
him  start  convulsively,  then  make  off  at  the  tearing 
run  that  indicates  a  heart  hit.  A  moment  later  the 
crack  of  the  rifle  and  the  dull  plunk  of  the  hitting 
bullet  struck  my  ear. 

We  tracked  him  fifty  yards  to  where  he  lay  dead. 
He  was  a  fine  trophy,  and  we  at  once  set  the  boys 
to  preparing  it  and  taking  the  meat.  In  the  mean- 
time we  sauntered  down  to  look  at  the  stream.  It 
was  a  small  rapid  affair,  but  in  heavy  papyrus,  with 
sparse  trees,  and  occasional  thickets,  and  dry  hard 
banks.  The  papyrus  should  make  a  good  lurking 
place  for  almost  anything;  but  the  few  points  of  ac- 
cess to  the  water  failed  to  show  many  interesting 

in 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

tracks.     Nevertheless  we  decided  to  explore  a  short 
distance. 

For  an  hour  we  walked  among  high  thornbushes, 
over  baking  hot  earth.  We  saw  two  or  three  dik- 
dik  and  one  of  the  giraffes.  By  that  time  it  had  be- 
come very  hot,  and  the  sun  was  bearing  down  on  us 
as  with  the  weight  of  a  heavy  hand.  The  air  had 
the  scorching,  blasting  quality  of  an  opened  furnace 
door.  Our  mouths  were  getting  dry  and  sticky  in 
that  peculiar  stage  of  thirst  on  which  no  luke-warm 
canteen  water  in  necessarily  limited  quantity  has 
any  effect.  So  we  turned  back,  picked  up  the  men 
with  the  waterbuck,  and  plodded  on  down  the  little 
stream,  or,  rather,  on  the  red-hot  dry  valley  bot- 
tom outside  the  stream's  course,  to  where  the  syces 
were  waiting  with  our  horses.  We  mounted  with 
great  thankfulness.  It  was  now  eleven  o'clock,  and 
we  considered  our  day  as  finished. 

The  best  way  for  a  distance  seemed  to  follow  the 
course  of  the  tributary  stream  to  its  point  of  junc- 
tion with  our  river.  We  rode  along,  rather  relaxed 
in  the  suffocating  heat.  F.  was  nearest  the  stream. 
At  one  point  it  freed  itself  of  trees  and  brush  and 
ran  clear,  save  for  low  papyrus,  ten  feet  down  below 
a  steep  eroded  bank.  F.  looked  over  and  uttered  a 
startled  exclamation.  I  spurred  my  horse  forward 
to  see. 

112 


THE  FIRST  LION 

Below  us,  about  fifteen  yards  away,  was  the  car- 
cass of  a  waterbuck  half  hidden  in  the  foot-high  grass. 
A  lion  and  two  lionesses  stood  upon  it,  staring  up  at 
us  with  great  yellow  eyes.  That  picture  is  a  very 
vivid  one  in  my  memory,  for  those  were  the  first  wild 
lions  I  had  ever  seen.  My  most  lively  impression 
was  of  their  unexpected  size.  They  seemed  to  bulk 
fully  a  third  larger  than  my  expectation. 

The  magnificent  beasts  stood  only  long  enough  to 
see  clearly  what  had  disturbed  them,  then  turned, 
and  in  two  bounds  had  gained  the  shelter  of  the 
thicket. 

Now  the  habit  in  Africa  is  to  let  your  gunbearers 
carry  all  your  guns.  You  yourself  stride  along  hand 
free.  It  is  an  English  idea,  and  is  pretty  generally 
adopted  out  there  by  every  one,  of  whatever  na- 
tionality. They  will  explain  it  to  you  by  saying 
that  in  such  a  climate  a  man  should  do  only  neces- 
sary physical  work,  and  that  a  good  gunbearer  will 
get  a  weapon  into  your  hand  so  quickly  and  in  so 
convenient  a  position  that  you  will  lose  no  time.  I 
acknowledge  the  gunbearers  are  sometimes  very 
skilful  at  this,  but  I  do  deny  that  there  is  no  loss  of 
time.  The  instant  of  distracted  attention  while 
receiving  a  weapon,  the  necessity  of  recollecting 
the  nervous  correlations  after  the  transfer,  very  often 
mark  just  the  difference  between  a  sure  instinctive 

"3 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

snapshot  and  a  lost  opportunity.  It  stands  to 
reason  that  the  man  with  the  rifle  in  his  hand  reacts 
instinctively,  in  one  motion,  to  get  his  weapon  into 
play.  If  the  gunbearer  has  the  gun,  he  must  first 
react  to  pass  it  up,  the  master  must  receive  it  prop-- 
erly,  and  then,  and  not  until  then,  may  go  on  from 
where  the  other  man  began.  As  for  physical  labour 
in  the  tropics:  if  a  grown  man  cannot  without  dis- 
comfort or  evil  effects  carry  an  eight-pound  rifle, 
he  is  too  feeble  to  go  out  at  all.  In  a  long  Western 
experience  I  have  learned  never  to  be  separated 
from  my  weapon;  and  I  believe  the  continuance  of 
this  habit  in  Africa  saved  me  a  good  number  of 
chances. 

At  any  rate,  we  all  flung  ourselves  off  our  horses. 
I,  having  my  rifle  in  my  hand,  managed  to  throw  a 
shot  after  the  biggest  lion  as  he  vanished.  It  was 
a  snap  at  nothing,  and  missed.  Then  in  an  opening 
on  the  edge  a  hundred  yards  away  appeared  one  of 
the  lionesses.  She  was  trotting  slowly,  and  on  her 
I  had  time  to  draw  a  hasty  aim.  At  the  shot  she 
bounded  high  in  the  air,  fell,  rolled  over,  and  was  up 
and  into  the  thicket  before  I  had  much  more  than 
time  to  pump  up  another  shell  from  the  magazine. 
Memba  Sasa  in  his  eagerness  got  in  the  way  —  the 
first  and  last  time  he  ever  made  a  mistake  in  the  field. 

By  this  time  the  others  had  got  hold  of  their 
114 


THE  FIRST  LION 

weapons.  We  fronted  the  ( blank  face  of  the 
thicket. 

The  wounded  animal  would  stand  a  little  waiting. 
We  made  a  wide  circle  to  the  other  side  of  the  stream. 
There  we  quickly  picked  up  the  trail  of  the  two  unin- 
jured beasts.  They  had  headed  directly  over  the  hill, 
where  we  speedily  lost  all  trace  of  them  on  the  flint- 
like  surface  of  the  ground.  We  saw  a  big  pack  of 
baboons  in  the  only  likely  direction  for  a  lion  to  go. 
Being  thus  thrown  back  on  a  choice  of  a  hundred 
other  unlikely  directions,  we  gave  up  that  slim 
chance  and  returned  to  the  thicket. 

This  proved  to  be  a  very  dense  piece  of  cover. 
Above  the  height  of  the  waist  the  interlocking 
branches  would  absolutely  prevent  any  progress, 
but  by  stooping  low  we  could  see  dimly  among  the 
simpler  main  stems  to  a  distance  of  perhaps  fifteen 
or  twenty  feet.  This  combination  at  once  afforded 
the  wounded  lioness  plenty  of  cover  in  which  to 
hide,  plenty  of  room  in  which  to  charge  home,  and 
placed  us  under  the  disadvantage  of  a  crouched  or 
crawling  attitude  with  limited  vision.  We  talked 
the  matter  over  very  thoroughly.  There  was 
only  one  way  to  get  that  lioness  out;  and  that 
was  to  go  after  her.  The  job  of  going  after  her 
needed  some  planning.  The  lion  is  cunning  and 
exceeding  fierce,  A  flank  attack,  once  we  were 

"5 


in  the  thicket,  was  as  much  to  be  expected  as  a 
frontal  charge. 

We  advanced  to  the  thicket's  edge  with  many  pre- 
cautions. To  our  relief  we  found  she  had  left  us  a 
definite  trail.  B.  and  I  kneeling  took  up  positions  on 
either  side,  our  rifles  ready.  F.  and  Simba  crawled 
by  inches  eight  or  ten  feet  inside  the  thicket. 
Then,  having  executed  this  manoeuvre  safely,  B. 
moved  up  to  protect  our  rear  while  I,  with  Memba 
Sasa,  slid  down  to  join  F. 

From  this  point  we  moved  forward  alternately. 
I  would  crouch,  all  alert,  my  rifle  ready,  while  F. 
slipped  by  me  and  a  few  feet  ahead.  Then  he  would 
get  organized  for  battle  while  I  passed  him.  Mem- 
ba Sasa  and  Simba,  game  as  badgers,  their  fierce 
eyes  gleaming  with  excitement,  their  faces  shining, 
crept  along  at  the  rear.  B.  knelt  outside  the  thicket, 
straining  his  eyes  for  the  slightest  movement  either 
side  of  the  line  of  our  advance.  Often  these  wily 
animals  will  sneak  back  in  a  half  circle  to  attack 
their  pursuers  from  behind.  Two  or  three  of  the 
bolder  porters  crouched  alongside  B.,  peering  eagerly. 
The  rest  had  quite  properly  retired  to  the  safe  dis- 
tance where  the  horses  stood. 

We  progressed  very,  very  slowly.  Every  splash 
of  light  or  mottled  shadow,  every  clump  of  bush 
stems,  every  fallen  log  had  to  be  examined,  and  then 

116 


'I  placed  the  little  gold  bead  of  my  405  Winchester  where  1 
thought  it  would  do  the  most  good." 


THE  FIRST  LION 

examined  again.  And  how  we  did  strain  our  eyes 
in  a  vain  attempt  to  penetrate  the  half  lights,  the 
duskinesses  of  the  closed-in  thicket  not  over  fifteen 
feet  away!  And  then  the  movement  forward  of  two 
feet  would  bring  into  our  field  of  vision  an  entirely 
new  set  of  tiny  vistas  and  possible  lurking  places. 

Speaking  for  myself,  I  was  keyed  up  to  a  tremen- 
dous tension.  I  stared  until  my  eyes  ached;  every 
muscle  and  nerve  was  taut.  Everything  depended 
on  seeing  the  beast  promptly,  and  firing  quickly. 
With  the  manifest  advantage  of  being  able  to  see  us, 
she  would  spring  to  battle  fully  prepared.  A  yellow 
flash  and  a  quick  shot  seemed  about  to  size  up  that 
situation.  Every  few  moments,  I  remember,  I  sur- 
reptitiously held  out  my  hand  to  see  if  the  con- 
stantly growing  excitement  and  the  long-continued 
strain  had  affected  its  steadiness. 

The  combination  of  heat  and  nervous  strain  was 
very  exhausting.  The  sweat  poured  from  me;  and 
as  F.  passed  me  I  saw  the  great  drops  standing  out 
on  his  face.  My  tongue  got  dry,  my  breath  came 
laboriously.  Finally  I  began  to  wonder  whether 
physically  I  should  be  able  to  hold  out.  We  had 
been  crawling,  it  seemed,  for  hours.  I  dared  not  look 
back,  but  we  must  have  come  a  good  quarter  mile. 
Finally  F.  stopped. 

"I'm  all  in  for  water,"  he  gasped  in  a  whisper. 
117 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

Somehow  that  confession  made  me  feel  a  lot  bet- 
ter. I  had  thought  that  I  was  the  only  one.  Cau- 
tiously we  settled  back  on  our  heels.  Memba  Sasa 
and  Simba  wiped  the  sweat  from  their  faces.  It 
seemed  that  they  too  had  found  the  work  severe. 
That  cheered  me  up  still  more. 

Simba  grinned  at  us,  and,  worming  his  way  back- 
ward with  the  sinuousity  of  a  snake,  he  disappeared 
in  the  direction  from  which  we  had  come.  F.  cursed 
after  him  in  a  whisper  both  for  departing  and  for 
taking  the  risk.  But  in  a  moment  he  had  returned 
carrying  two  canteens  of  blessed  w?ter.  We  took 
a  drink  most  gratefully. 

I  glanced  at  my  watch.  It  was  just  under  two 
hours  since  I  had  fired  my  shot.  I  looked  back. 
My  supposed  quarter  mile  had  shrunk  to  not  over 
fifty  feet! 

After  resting  a  few  moments  longer,  we  again  took 
up  our  systematic  advance. 

We  made  perhaps  another  fifty  feet.  We  were 
ascending  a  very  gentle  slope.  F.  was  for  the  mo- 
ment ahead.  Right  before  us  the  lion  growled;  a  deep 
rumbling  like  the  end  of  a  great  thunder  roll,  fath- 
oms and  fathoms  deep,  with  the  inner  subterranean 
vibrations  of  a  heavy  train  of  cars  passing  a  man  in- 
side a  sealed  building.  At  the  same  moment  over  F.'s 
shoulder  I  saw  a  huge  yellow  head  rise  up,  the  round 

118 


THE  FIRST  LION 

eyes  flashing  anger,  the  small  black-tipped  ears  laid 
back,  the  great  fangs  snarling.  The  beast  was  not  over 
twelve  feet  distant.  F.  immediately  fired.  His  shot, 
hitting  an  intervening  twig,  went  wild.  With  the  ut- 
most coolness  he  immediately  pulled  the  other  trigger 
of  his  double  barrel.  The  cartridge  snapped. 

"If  you  will  kindly  stoop   down "  said  I,  in 

what  I  now  remember  to  be  rather  an  exaggeratedly 
polite  tone.  As  F.'s  head  disappeared,  I  placed  the 
little  gold  bead  of  my  405  Winchester  where  I 
thought  it  would  do  the  most  good,  and  pulled  trig- 
ger. She  rolled  over  dead. 

The  whole  affair  had  begun  and  finished  with  un- 
believable swiftness.  From  the  growl  to  the  fatal 
shot  I  don't  suppose  four  seconds  elapsed,  for  our 
various  actions  had  followed  one  another  with  the 
speed  of  the  instinctive.  The  lioness  had  growled 
at  our  approach,  had  raised  her  head  to  charge,  and 
had  received  her  deathblow  before  she  had  released 
her  muscles  in  the  spring.  There  had  been  no  time 
to  get  frightened. 

We  sat  back  for  a  second.  A  brown  hand  reached 
over  my  shoulder. 

"Mizouri —  mizouri  sana!"  cried  Memba  Sasa 
joyously.  I  shook  the  hand. 

"Good  business!"  said  F.  "Congratulate  you  on 
your  first  lion." 

119 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

We  then  remembered  B.,  and  shouted  to  him  that 
all  was  over.  He  and  the  other  men  wriggled  in  to 
where  we  were  lying.  He  made  this  distance  in 
about  fifteen  seconds.  It  had  taken  us  nearly  an 
hour! 

We  had  the  lioness  dragged  out  into  the  open. 
She  was  not  an  especially  large  beast,  as  compared 
to  most  of  the  others  I  killed  later,  but  at  that  time 
she  looked  to  me  about  as  big  as  they  made  them. 
As  a  matter  of  fact  she  was  quite  big  enough,  for 
she  stood  three  feet  two  inches  at  the  shoulder  — 
measure  that  against  the  wall  — •  and  was  seven 
feet  and  six  inches  in  length.  My  first  bullet  had 
hit  her  leg,  and  the  last  had  reached  her  heart. 

Every  one  shook  me  by  the  hand.  The  gun- 
bearers  squatted  about  the  carcass,  skilfully  removing 
the  skin  to  an  undertone  of  curious  crooning  that 
every  few  moments  broke  out  into  one  or  two  bars 
of  a  chant.  As  the  body  was  uncovered,  the  men 
crouched  about  to  cut  off  little  pieces  of  fat.  These 
they  rubbed  on  their  foreheads  and  over  their  chests, 
to  make  them  brave,  they  said,  and  cunning,  like 
the  lion. 

We  remounted  and  took  up  our  interrupted  jour- 
ney to  camp.  It  was  a  little  after  two,  and  the  heat 
was  at  its  worst.  We  rode  rather  sleepily,  for  the 
reaction  from  the  high  tension  of  excitement  had 

120 


set  in.  Behind  us  marched  the  three  gunbearers,  all 
abreast,  very  military  and  proud.  Then  came  the 
porters  in  single  file,  the  one  carrying  the  folded  lion 
skin  leading  the  way;  those  bearing  the  waterbuck 
trophy  and  meat  bringing  up  the  rear.  They  kept 
up  an  undertone  of  humming  in  a  minor  key;  oc- 
casionally breaking  into  a  short  musical  phrase  in 
full  voice. 

We  rode  an  hour.  The  camp  looked  very  cool 
and  inviting  under  its  wide  high  trees,  with  the  river 
slipping  by  around  the  islands  of  papyrus.  A  num- 
ber of  black  heads  bobbed  about  in  the  shallows. 
The  small  fires  sent  up  little  wisps  of  smoke.  Around 
them  our  boys  sprawled,  playing  simple  games, 
mending,  talking,  roasting  meat.  Their  tiny  white 
tents  gleamed  pleasantly  among  the  cool  shadows. 

I  had  thought  of  riding  nonchalantly  up  to  our 
own  tents,  of  dismounting  with  a  careless  word  of 
greeting 

"Oh,  yes,"  I  would  say,  "we  did  have  a  good 
enough  day.  Pretty  hot.  Roy  got  a  fine  waterbuck. 
Yes,  I  got  a  lion."  (Tableau  on  part  of  Billy.) 

But  Memba  Sasa  used  up  all  the  nonchalance 
there  was.  As  we  entered  camp  he  remarked  cas- 
ually to  the  nearest  man. 

"Bwana  na  piga  simba  —  the  master  has  killed 
a  lion." 

121 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

The  man  leaped  to  his  feet. 

"Simba!  simba!  simba!"  he  yelled.  "Na  piga 
simba!" 

Every  one  in  camp  also  leaped  to  his  feet,  taking 
up  the  cry.  From  the  water  it  was  echoed  as  the 
bathers  scrambled  ashore.  The  camp  broke  into 
pandemonium.  We  were  surrounded  by  a  dense 
struggling  mass  of  men.  They  reached  up  scores 
of  black  hands  to  grasp  my  own;  they  seized  from 
me  everything  portable  and  bore  it  in  triumph  be- 
fore me  — my  water  bottle,  my  rifle,  my  camera,  my 
whip,  my  field  glasses,  even  my  hat,  everything  that 
was  detachable.  Those  on  the  outside  danced  and 
lifted  up  their  voices  in  song,  improvised  for  the 
most  part,  and  in  honor  of  the  day's  work.  In  a 
vast  swirling,  laughing,  shouting,  triumphant  mob 
we  swept  through  the  camp  to  where  Billy  —  by 
now  not  very  much  surprised  —  was  waiting  to  get 
the  official  news.  By  the  measure  of  this  extrava- 
gant joy  could  we  gauge  what  the  killing  of  a  lion 
means  to  these  people  who  have  always  lived  under 
the  dread  of  his  rule. 


122 


X 

LIONS 

A  VERY  large  lion  I  killed  stood  three  feet  and 
nine  inches  at  the  withers,  and  of  course  car- 
ried his  head  higher  than  that.  The  top  of  the 
table  at  which  I  sit  is  only  two  feet  three  inches  from 
the  floor.  Coming  through  the  door  at  my  back 
that  lion's  head  would  stand  over  a  foot  higher 
than  halfway  up.  Look  at  your  own  writing  desk; 
your  own  door.  Furthermore,  he  was  nine  feet 
and  eleven  inches  in  a  straight  line  from  nose  to  end 
of  tail,  or  over  eleven  feet  along  the  contour  of  the 
back.  If  he  were  to  rise  on  his  hind  feet  to  strike 
a  man  down,  he  would  stand  somewhere  between 
seven  and  eight  feet  tall,  depending  on  how  nearly 
he  straightened  up.  He  weighed  just  under  six 
hundred  pounds,  or  as  much  as  four  well-grown 
specimens  of  our  own  "mountain  lion."  I  tell  you 
this  that  you  may  realize,  as  I  did  not,  the  size  to 
which  a  wild  lion  grows.  Either  menagerie  speci- 
mens are  stunted  in  growth,  or  their  position  and 
surroundings  tend  to  belittle  them,  for  certainly 

123 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

until  a  man  sees  old  Leo  in  the  wilderness  he  has  not 
understood  what  a  fine  old  chap  he  is. 

This  tremendous  weight  is  sheer  strength.  A 
lion's  carcass  when  the  skin  is  removed  is  a  really 
beautiful  sight.  The  great  muscles  lie  in  ropes  and 
bands;  the  forearm  thicker  than  a  man's  leg,  the 
lithe  barrel  banded  with  brawn;  the  flanks  overlaid 
by  the  long  thick  muscles.  And  this  power  is  instinct 
with  the  nervous  force  of  a  highly  organized  being. 
The  lion  is  quick  and  intelligent  and  purposeful;  so 
that  he  brings  to  his  intenser  activities  the  concen- 
tration of  vivid  passion,  whether  of  anger,  of  hunger 
or  of  desire. 

So  far  the  opinions  of  varied  experience  will  jog 
along  together.  At  this  point  they  diverge. 

Just  as  the  lion  is  one  of  the  most  interesting  and 
fascinating  of  beasts,  so  concerning  him  one  may 
hear  the  most  diverse  opinions.  This  man  will  tell 
you  that  any  lion  is  always  dangerous.  Another 
will  hold  the  king  of  beasts  in  the  most  utter  con- 
tempt as  a  coward  and  a  skulker. 

In  the  first  place,  generalization  about  any  spe- 
cies of  animal  is  an  exceedingly  dangerous  thing. 
I  believe  that,  in  the  case  of  the  higher  animals  at 
least,  the  differences  in  individual  temperament  are 
quite  likely  to  be  more  numerous  than  the  specific 
likenesses.  Just  as  individual  men  are  bright  or  dull, 

124 


LIONS 

nervous  or  phlegmatic,  cowardly  or  brave,  so  in- 
dividual animals  vary  in  like  respect.  Our  own 
hunters  will  recall  from  their  personal  experiences 
how  the  big  bear  may  have  sat  down  and  bawled 
harmlessly  for  mercy,  while  the  little  unconsidered 
fellow  did  his  best  until  finished  off:  how  one  buck 
dropped  instantly  to  a  wound  that  another  would 
carry  five  miles :  how  of  two  equally  matched  war- 
riors of  the  herd  one  will  give  way  in  the  fight,  while 
still  uninjured,  before  his  perhaps  badly  wounded 
antagonist.  The  casual  observer  might  —  and 
often  does  —  say  that  all  bears  are  cowardly,  all 
bucks  are  easily  killed,  or  the  reverse,  according  as 
the  god  of  chance  has  treated  him  to  one  spectacle 
or  the  other.  As  well  try  to  generalize  on  the 
human  race  —  as  is  a  certain  ecclesiastical  habit  — 
that  all  men  are  vile  or  noble,  dishonest  or  upright, 
wise  or  foolish. 

The  higher  we  go  in  the  scale  the  truer  this  in- 
dividualism holds.  We  are  forced  to  reason  not 
from  the  bulk  of  observations,  but  from  their  aver- 
ages. If  we  find  ten  bucks  who  will  go  a  mile  badly 
wounded  to  two  who  succumb  in  their  tracks  from 
similar  hurts,  we  are  justified  in  saying  tentatively 
that  the  species  is  tenacious  of  life.  But  as  ex- 
perience broadens  we  may  modify  that  statement j 
for  strange  indeed  are  runs  of  luck, 

125 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

For  this  reason  a  good  deal  of  the  wise  conclusion 
we  read  in  sportsmen's  narratives  is  worth  very 
little.  Few  men  have  experience  enough  with  lions 
to  rise  to  averages  through  the  possibilities  of  luck. 
Especially  is  this  true  of  lions.  No  beast  that  roams 
seems  to  go  more  by  luck  than  felis  leo.  Good  hun- 
ters may  search  for  years  without  seeing  hide  nor 
hair  of  one  of  the  beasts.  Selous,  one  of  the  greatest, 
went  to  East  Africa  for  the  express  purpose  of  get- 
ting some  of  the  fine  beasts  there,  hunted  six  weeks 
and  saw  none.  Holmes  of  the  Escarpment  has 
lived  in  the  country  six  years,  has  hunted  a  great  deal 
and  has  yet  to  kill  his  first.  One  of  the  railroad 
officials  has  for  years  gone  up  and  down  the  Uganda 
Railway  on  his  handcar,  his  rifle  ready  in  hopes  of 
the  lion  that  never  appeared;  though  many  are  there 
seen  by  those  with  better  fortune.  Bronson  hunted 
desperately  for  this  great  prize,  but  failed.  Rains- 
ford  shot  no  lions  his  first  trip,  and  ran  into  them 
only  three  years  later.  Read  Abel  Chapman's 
description  of  his  continued  bad  luck  at  even  seeing 
the  beasts.  MacMillan,  after  five  years'  unbroken 
good  fortune,  has  in  the  last  two  years  failed  to  kill 
a  lion,  although  he  has  made  many  trips  for  the  pur- 
pose. F.  told  me  he  followed  every  rumour  of  a 
lion  for  two  years  before  he  got  one.  Again,  one 
may  hear  the  most  marvellous  of  yarns  the  other 

126 


LIONS 

way  about  —  of  the  German  who  shot  one  from  the 
train  on  the  way  up  from  Mombasa;  of  the  young 
English  tenderfoot  who,  the  first  day  out,  came  on 
three  asleep,  across  a  river,  and  potted  the  lot;  and 
so  on.  The  point  is,  that  in  the  case  of  lions  the 
element  of  sheer  chance  seems  to  begin  earlier  and 
last  longer  than  is  the  case  with  any  other  beast. 
And,  you  must  remember,  experience  must  thrust 
through  the  luck  element  to  the  solid  ground  of 
averages  before  it  can  have  much  value  in  the  way 
of  generalization.  Before  he  has  reached  that 
solid  ground,  a  man's  opinions  depend  entirely  on 
what  kind  of  lions  he  chances  to  meet,  in  what  cir- 
cumstances, and  on  how  matters  happen  to  shape 
in  the  crowded  moments. 

But  though  lack  of  sufficiently  extended  expe- 
rience has  much  to  do  with  these  decided  differences 
of  opinion,  I  believe  that  misapprehension  has  also 
its  part.  The  sportsman  sees  lions  on  the  plains. 
Likewise  the  lions  see  him,  and  promptly  depart  to 
thick  cover  or  rocky  butte.  He  comes  on  them  in 
the  scrub;  they  bound  hastily  out  of  sight.  He  may 
even  meet  them  face  to  face,  but  instead  of  attack- 
ing him,  they  turn  to  right  and  left  and  make  off  in 
the  long  grass.  When  he  follows  them,  they  sneak 
cunningly  away.  If,  added  to  this,  he  has  the  good 
luck  to  kill  one  or  two  stone  dead  at  a  single  shot 

127 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

each,  he  begins  to  think  there  is  not  much  in  lion 
shooting  after  all,  and  goes  home  proclaiming  the 
king  of  beasts  a  skulking  coward. 

After  all,  on  what  grounds  does  he  base  this  con- 
clusion? In  what  way  have  circumstances  been  a 
test  of  courage  at  all?  The  lion  did  not  stand  and 
fight,  to  be  sure;  but  why  should  he?  What  was 
there  in  it  for  lions?  Behind  any  action  must  a 
motive  exist.  Where  is  the  possible  motive  for  any 
lion  to  attack  on  sight?  He  does  not  —  except 
in  unusual  cases  —  eat  men;  nothing  has  occurred  to 
make  him  angry.  The  obvious  thing  is  to  avoid 
trouble,  unless  there  is  a  good  reason  to  seek  it.  In 
that  one  evidences  the  lion's  good  sense,  but  not  his 
lack  of  courage.  That  quality  has  not  been  called 
upon  at  all. 

But  if  the  sportsman  had  done  one  of  two  or  three 
things,  I  am  quite  sure  he  would  have  had  a  taste  of 
our  friend's  mettle.  If  he  had  shot  at  and  even 
grazed  the  beast;  if  he  had  happened  upon  him 
where  an  exit  was  not  obvious ;  or  if  he  had  even  fol- 
lowed the  lion  until  the  latter  had  become  tired  of  the 
annoyance,  he  would  very  soon  have  discovered  that 
Leo  is  not  all  good  nature,  and  that  once  angered 
his  courage  will  take  him  in  against  any  odds. 
Furthermore,  he  may  be  astonished  and  dismayed  to 
discover  that  of  a  group  of  several  lions,  two  or 

128 


LIONS 

three  besides  the  wounded  animal  are  quite  likely  to 
take  up  the  quarrel  and  charge  too.  In  other  words, 
in  my  opinion,  the  lion  avoids  trouble  when  he  can, 
not  from  cowardice  but  from  essential  indolence  or 
good  nature;  but  does  not  need  to  be  cornered*  to 
fight  to  the  death  when  in  his  mind  his  dignity  is 
sufficiently  assailed. 

For  of  all  dangerous  beasts  the  lion,  when  once 
aroused,  will  alone  face  odds  to  the  end.  The  rhinoc- 
eros, the  elephant,  and  even  the  buffalo  can  often 
be  turned  aside  by  a  shot.  A  lion  almost  always 
charges  home.t  Slower  and  slower  he  comes,  as  the 
bullets  strike;  but  he  comes,  until  at  last  he  may  be 
just  hitching  himself  along,  his  face  to  the  enemy,  his 
fierce  spirit  undaunted.  When  finally  he  rolls  over, 
he  bites  the  earth  in  great  mouthfuls;  and  so  passes, 
fighting  to  the  last.  The  death  of  a  lion  is  a  fine 
sight. 

No,  I  must  confess,  to  me  the  lion  is  an  object  of 
great  respect;  and  so,  I  gather,  he  is  to  all  who  have 
had  really  extensive  experience.  Those  like  Leslie 
Tarleton,  Lord  Delamere,  W.  N.  MacMillan,  Baron 
von  Bronsart,  the  Hills,  Sir  Alfred  Pease,  who  are 
great  lion  men,  all  concede  to  the  lion  a  courage  and 

*This  is  an  important  distinction  in  estimating  the  inherent  courage  of 
man  or  beast.     Even  a  mouse  will  fight  when  cornered. 

tl  seem  to  be  generalizing  here,  but  all  these  conclusions  must  be  under- 
stood to  take  into  consideration  the  liability  of  individual  variation. 

129 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

tenacity  unequalled  by  any  other  living  beast.  My 
own  experience  is  of  course  nothing  as  compared  to 
that  of  these  men.  Yet  I  saw  in  my  nine  months 
afield  seventy-one  lions.  None  of  these  offered  to 
attack  when  unwounded  or  not  annoyed.  On  the 
other  hand,  only  one  turned  tail  once  the  battle  was 
on,  and  she  proved  to  be  a  three  quarters  grown  lion- 
ess, sick  and  out  of  condition. 

It  is  of  course  indubitable  that  where  lions  have 
been  much  shot  they  become  warier  in  the  matter  of 
keeping  out  of  trouble.  They  retire  to  cover  earlier 
in  the  morning,  and  they  keep  more  than  a  per- 
functory outlook  for  the  casual  human  being. 
When  hunters  first  began  to  go  into  the  Sotik  the 
lions  there  would  stand  imperturbably,  staring  at 
the  intruder  with  curiosity  or  indifference.  Now 
they  have  learned  that  such  performances  are  not 
healthy  —  and  they  have  probably  satisfied  their 
curiosity.  But  neither  in  the  Sotik,  nor  even  in  the 
plains  around  Nairobi  itself,  does  the  lion  refuse  the 
challenge  once  it  has  been  put  up  to  him  squarely. 
Nor  does  he  need  to  be  cornered.  He  charges  in 
quite  blithely  from  the  open  plain,  once  convinced 
that  you  are  really  an  annoyance. 

As  to  habits!  The  only  sure  thing  about  a  lion 
is  his  originality.  He  has  more  exceptions  to  his 
rules  than  the  German  language.  Men  who  have 

130 


LIONS 

been  mighty  lion  hunters  for  many  years,  and  who 
have  brought  to  their  hunting  close  observation, 
can  only  tell  you  what  a  lion  may  do  in  certain  cir- 
cumstances. Following  very  broad  principles,  they 
may  even  predict  what  he  is  apt  to  do,  but  never 
what  he  certainly  will  do.  That  is  one  thing  that 
makes  lion  hunting  interesting. 

In  general,  then,  the  lion  frequents  that  part  of 
the  country  where  feed  the  great  game  herds.  From 
them  he  takes  his  toll  by  night,  retiring  during  the 
day  into  the  shallow  ravines,  the  brush  patches,  or 
the  rocky  little  buttes.  I  have,  however,  seen  lions 
miles  from  game,  slumbering  peacefully  atop  an  ant 
hill.  Indeed,  occasionally,  a  pack  of  lions  likes  to 
live  high  in  the  tall-grass  ridges  where  every  hunt 
will  mean  for  them  a  four-or  five-mile  jaunt  out  and 
back  again.  He  needs  water,  after  feeding,  and  so 
rarely  gets  farther  than  eight  or  ten  miles  from  that 
necessity. 

He  hunts  at  night.  This  is  as  nearly  invariable 
a  rule  as  can  be  formulated  in  regard  to  lions.  Yet 
once,  and  perhaps  twice,  I  saw  lionesses  stalking 
through  tall  grass  as  early  as  three  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon.  This  eagerness  may,  or  may  not,  have 
had  to  do  with  the  possession  of  hungry  cubs.  The 
lion's  customary  harmlessness  in  the  daytime  is 
best  evidenced,  however,  by  the  comparative  in-- 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

difference  of  the  game  to  his  presence  then.  From 
a  hill  we  watched  three  of  these  beasts  wandering  leis- 
urely across  the  plains  below.  A  herd  of  kongonis 
feeding  directly  in  their  path,  merely  moved  aside 
right  and  left,  quite  deliberately,  to  leave  a  passage 
fifty  yards  or  so  wide,  but  otherwise  paid  not  the 
slightest  attention.  I  have  several  times  seen  this 
incident,  or  a  modification  of  it.  And  yet,  conversely, 
on  a  number  of  occasions  we  have  received  our 
first  intimation  of  the  presence  of  lions  by  the  wild 
stampeding  of  the  game  away  from  a  certain  spot. 

However,  the  most  of  his  hunting  is  done  by  dark. 
Between  the  hours  of  sundown  and  nine  o'clock  he 
and  his  comrades  may  be  heard  uttering  the  deep 
coughing  grunt  typical  of  this  time  of  night.  These 
curious,  short,  far-sounding  calls  may  be  mere  evi- 
dences of  intention,  or  they  may  be  a  sort  of  signal 
by  means  of  which  the  various  hunters  keep  in 
touch.  After  a  little  they  cease.  Then  one  is 
quite  likely  to  hear  the  petulant,  alarmed  barking 
of  zebra,  or  to  feel  the  vibrations  of  many  hoofs. 
There  is  a  sense  of  hurried,  flurried  uneasiness  abroad 
on  the  veldt. 

The  lion  generally  springs  on  his  prey  from  be- 
hind or  a  little  off  the  quarter.  By  the  impetus  of 
his  own  weight  he  hurls  his  victim  forward,  doubling 
its  head  under,  and  very  neatly  breaking  its  neck, 

132 


LIONS 

I  have  never  seen  this  done,  but  the  process  has  been 
well  observed  and  attested;  and  certainly,  of  the 
many  hundreds  of  lion  kills  I  have  taken  the  pains 
to  inspect,  the  majority  had  had  their  necks  broken. 
Sometimes,  but  apparently  more  rarely,  the  lion 
kills  its  prey  by  a  bite  in  the  back  of  the  neck.  I 
have  seen  zebra  killed  in  this  fashion,  but  never  any 
of  the  buck.  It  may  be  possible  that  the  lack  of 
horns  makes  it  more  difficult  to  break  a  zebra's 
neck  because  of  the  corresponding  lack  of  leverage 
when  its  head  hits  the  ground  sidewise;  the  instances 
I  have  noted  may  have  been  those  in  which  the  lion's 
spring  landed  too  far  back  to  throw  the  victim  prop- 
erly; or  perhaps  they  were  merely  examples  of  the 
great  variability  in  the  habits  of  felis  leo. 

Once  the  kill  is  made,  the  lion  disembowels  the 
beast  very  neatly  indeed,  and  drags  the  entrails  a 
few  feet  out  of  the  way.  He  then  eats  what  he 
wants,  and,  curiously  enough,  seems  often  to  be  very 
fond  of  the  skin.  In  fact,  lacking  other  evidence,  it 
is  occasionally  possible  to  identify  a  kill  as  being  that 
of  a  lion  by  noticing  whether  any  considerable  por- 
tion of  the  hide  has  been  devoured.  After  eating 
he  drinks.  Then  he  is  likely  to  do  one  of  two  things : 
either  he  returns  to  cover  near  the  carcass  and  lies 
down,  or  he  wanders  slowly  and  with  satisfaction 
toward  his  happy  home.  In  the  latter  case  the 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

hyenas,  jackals,  and  carrion  birds  seize  their  chance. 
The  astute  hunter  can  often  diagnose  the  case  by  the 
general  actions  and  demeanour  of  these  camp  fol- 
lowers. A  half  dozen  sour  and  disgusted  looking 
hyenas  seated  on  their  haunches  at  scattered  inter- 
vals, and  treefuls  of  mournfully  humpbacked  vul- 
tures sunk  in  sadness,  indicate  that  the  lion  has 
decided  to  save  the  rest  of  his  zebra  until  to-morrow 
and  is  not  far  away.  On  the  other  hand,  a  grand 
flapping,  snarling  Kilkenny-fair  of  an  aggregation 
swirling  about  one  spot  in  the  grass  means  that  the 
principal  actor  has  gone  home. 

It  is  ordinarily  useless  to  expect  to  see  the  lion 
actually  on  his  prey.  The  feeding  is  done  before 
dawn,  after  which  the  lion  enjoys  stretching  out  in 
the  open  until  the  sun  is  well  up,  and  then  retiring 
to  the  nearest  available  cover.  Still,  at  the  risk  of 
seeming  to  be  perpetually  qualifying,  I  must  in- 
stance finding  three  lions  actually  on  the  stale  car- 
cass of  a  waterbuck  at  eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning 
of  a  piping  hot  day!  In  an  undisturbed  country, 
or  one  not  much  hunted,  the  early  morning  hours  up 
to  say  nine  o'clock  are  quite  likely  to  show  you 
lions  sauntering  leisurely  across  the  open  plains 
toward  their  lairs.  They  go  a  little,  stop  a  little, 
yawn,  sit  down  a  while,  and  gradually  work  their 
way  home.  At  those  times  you  come  upon  them 

134 


LIONS 

unexpectedly  face  to  face,  or,  seeing  them  from  afar, 
ride  them  down  in  a  glorious  gallop.  Where  the 
country  has  been  much  hunted,  however,  the  lion 
learns  to  abandon  his  kill  and  seek  shelter  before 
daylight,  and  is  almost  never  seen  abroad.  Then 
one  must  depend  on  happening  upon  him  in  his 
cover. 

In  the  actual  hunting  of  his  game  the  lion  is  ap- 
parently very  clever.  He  understands  the  value  of 
cooperation.  Two  or  more  will  manoeuvre  very 
skilfully  to  give  a  third  the  chance  to  make  an  ef- 
fective spring;  whereupon  the  three  will  share  the 
kill.  In  a  rough  country,  or  one  otherwise  favour- 
able to  the  method,  a  pack  of  lions  will  often  delib- 
erately drive  game  into  narrow  ravines  or  cul  de 
sacs  where  the  killers  are  waiting. 

At  such  times  the  man  favoured  by  the  chance  of 
an  encampment  within  five  miles  or  so  can  hear  a 
lion's  roar. 

Otherwise  I  doubt  if  he  is  apt  often  to  get  the  full- 
voiced,  genuine  article.  The  peculiar  questioning 
cough  of  early  evening  is  resonant  and  deep  in  vibra- 
tion, but  it  is  a  call  rather  than  a  roar.  No  lion  is 
fool  enough  to  make  a  noise  when  he  is  stalking. 
Then  afterward,  when  full  fed,  individuals  may 
open  up  a  few  times,  but  only  a  few  times,  in  sheer 
satisfaction,  apparently,  at  being  well  fed.  The 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

menagerie  row  at  feeding  time,  formidable  as  it 
sounds  within  the  echoing  walls,  is  only  a  mild  and 
gentle  hint.  But  when  seven  or  eight  lions  roar 
merely  to  see  how  much  noise  they  can  make,  as 
when  driving  game,  or  trying  to  stampede  your  oxen 
on  a  wagon  trip,  the  effect  is  something  tremendous. 
The  very  substance  of  the  ground  vibrates;  the  air 
shakes.  I  can  only  compare  it  to  the  effect  of  a 
very  large  deep  organ  in  a  very  small  church.  There 
is  something  genuinely  awe-inspiring  about  it;  and 
when  the  repeated  volleys  rumble  into  silence,  one 
can  imagine  the  veldt  crouched  in  a  rigid  terror  that 
shall  endure. 


136 


XI 
LIONS  AGAIN 

AS  TO  the  dangers  of  lion  hunting  it  is  also 
difficult  to  write.  There  is  no  question  that 
a  cool  man,  using  good  judgment  as  to  just  what 
he  can  or  cannot  do,  should  be  able  to  cope  with  lion 
situations.  The  modern  rifle  is  capable  of  stopping 
the  beast,  provided  the  bullet  goes  to  the  right  spot. 
The  right  spot  is  large  enough  to  be  easy  to  hit,  if 
the  shooter  keeps  cool.  Our  definition  of  a  cool  man 
must  comprise  the  elements  of  steady  nerves  under 
super-excitement,  the  ability  to  think  quickly  and 
clearly,  and  the  mildly  strategic  quality  of  being 
able  to  make  the  best  use  of  awkward  circumstances. 
Such  a  man,  barring  sheer  accidents,  should  be  able 
to  hunt  lions  with  absolute  certainty  for  just  as 
long  as  he  does  not  get  careless,  slipshod  or  over- 
confident. Accidents  —  real  accidents,  not  merely 
unexpected  happenings  —  are  hardly  to  be  counted. 
They  can  occur  in  your  own  house. 

But  to  the  man  not  temperamentally  qualified, 
lion  shooting  is  dangerous  enough.     The  lion,  when 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

he  takes  the  offensive,  intends  to  get  his  antagonist. 
Having  made  up  his  mind  to  that,  he  charges  home, 
generally  at  great  speed.  The  realization  that  it  is 
the  man's  life  or  the  beast's  is  disconcerting.  Also 
the  charging  lion  is  a  spectacle  much  more  awe- 
inspiring  in  reality  than  the  most  vivid  imagination 
can  predict.  He  looks  very  large,  very  determined, 
and  has  uttered  certain  rumbling,  blood-curdling 
threats  as  to  what  he  is  going  to  do  about  it.  It 
suddenly  seems  most  undesirable  to  allow  that  lion 
to  come  any  closer,  not  even  an  inch!  A  hasty,  ner- 
vous shot  misses 

An  unwounded  lion  charging  from  a  distance  is 
said  to  start  rather  slowly,  and  to  increase  his  pace 
only  as  he  closes.  Personally  I  have  never  been 
charged  by  an  unwounded  beast,  but  I  can  testify 
that  the  wounded  animal  comes  very  fast.  Cun- 
inghame  puts  the  rate  at  about  seven  seconds  to  the 
hundred  yards.  Certainly  I  should  say  that  a  man 
charged  from  fifty  yards  or  so  would  have  little 
chance  for  a  second  shot,  provided  he  missed  the 
first.  A  hit  seemed,  in  my  experience,  to  check 
the  animal,  by  sheer  force  of  impact,  long  enough 
to  permit  me  to  throw  in  another  cartridge.  A 
lioness  thus  took  four  frontal  bullets  starting  at 
about  sixty  yards.  An  initial  miss  would  probably 
have  permitted  her  to  close. 

138 


LIONS  AGAIN 

Here,  as  can  be  seen,  is  a  great  source  of  danger  to 
a  flurried  or  nervous  beginner.  He  does  not  want 
that  lion  to  get  an  inch  nearer;  he  fires  at  too  long  a 
range,  misses,  and  is  killed  or  mauled  before  he  can 
reload.  This  happened  precisely  so  to  two  young 
friends  of  MacMillan.  They  were  armed  with 
double-rifles,  let  them  off  hastily  as  the  beast  start- 
led at  them  from  two  hundred  yards,  and  never  got 
another  chance.  If  they  had  possessed  the  expe- 
rience to  have  waited  until  the  lion  had  come  within 
fifty  yards  they  would  have  had  the  almost  certainty 
of  four  barrels  at  close  range.  Though  I  have  seen 
a  lion  missed  clean  well  inside  those  limits. 

From  such  performances  are  so-called  lion  acci- 
dents built.  During  my  stay  in  Africa  I  heard  of 
six  white  men  being  killed  by  lions,  and  a  number  of 
others  mauled.  As  far  as  possible  I  tried  to  deter- 
mine the  facts  of  each  case.  In  every  instance  the 
trouble  followed  either  foolishness  or  loss  of  nerve. 
I  believe  I  should  be  quite  safe  in  saying  that  from 
identically  the  same  circumstances  any  of  the  good 
lion  men  —  Tarleton,  Lord  Delamere,  the  Hills,  and 
others — would  have  extricated  themselves  unharmed. 

This  does  not  mean  that  accidents  may  not  hap- 
pen. Rifles  jam,  but  generally  because  of  flurried 
manipulation!  One  may  unexpectedly  meet  the 
lion  at  too  close  quarters;  a  foot  may  slip,  or  a  cart- 

139 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

ridge  prove  defective.  So  may  one  fall  downstairs, 
or  bump  one's  head  in  the  dark.  Sufficient  fore- 
thought and  alertness  and  readiness  would  go  far 
in  either  case  to  prevent  bad  results. 

The  wounded  beast,  of  course,  offers  the  most  in- 
teresting problem  to  the  lion  hunter.  If  it  sees  the 
hunter,  it  is  likely  to  charge  him  at  once.  If  hit 
while  making  off,  however,  it  is  more  apt  to  take 
cover.  Then  one  must  summon  all  his  good  sense 
and  nerve  to  get  it  out.  No  rules  can  be  given  for 
this;  nor  am  I  trying  to  write  a  text  book  for  lion 
hunters.  Any  good  lion  hunter  knows  a  lot  more 
about  it  than  I  do.  But  always  a  man  must  keep 
in  mind  three  things:  that  a  lion  can  hide  in  cover 
so  short  that  it  seems  to  the  novice  as  though  a 
jack- rabbit  would  find  scant  concealment  there; 
that  he  charges  like  lightning,  and  that  he  can  spring 
about  fifteen  feet.  This  spring,  coming  unexpectedly 
from  an  unseen  beast,  is  about  impossible  to  avoid. 
Sheer  luck  may  land  a  fatal  shot;  but  even  then  the 
lion  will  probably  do  his  damage  before  he  dies.  The 
rush  from  a  short  distance  a  good  quick  shot  ought 
to  be  able  to  cope  with. 

Therefore  the  wise  hunter  assures  himself  of  at 
least  twenty  feet  —  preferably  more  —  of  neutral 
zone  all  about  him.  No  matter  how  long  it  takes, 
he  determines  absolutely  that  the  lion  is  not 

140 


LIONS  AGAIN 

within  that  distance.  The  rest  is  alertness  and 
quickness. 

As  I  have  said,  the  amount  of  cover  necessary  to 
conceal  a  lion  is  astonishingly  small.  He  can  flatten 
himself  out  surprisingly;  and  his  tawny  colour  blends 
so  well  with  the  brown  grasses  that  he  is  practically 
invisible.  A  practised  man  does  not,  of  course,  look 
for  lions  at  all.  He  is  after  unusual  small  patches, 
especially  the  black  ear  tips  or  the  black  of  the  mane. 
Once  guessed  at,  it  is  interesting  to  see  how  quickly 
the  hitherto  unsuspected  animal  sketches  itself  out 
in  the  cover. 

I  should,  before  passing  on  to  another  aspect  of 
the  matter,  mention  the  dangerous  poisons  carried 
by  the  lion's  claws.  Often  men  have  died  from  the 
most  trivial  surface  wounds.  The  grooves  of  the 
claws  carry  putrefying  meat  from  the  kills.  Every 
sensible  man  in  a  lion  country  carries  a  small  syringe, 
and  either  permanganate  or  carbolic.  And  those 
mild  little  remedies  he  uses  full  strength! 

The  great  and  overwhelming  advantage  is  of 
course  with  the  hunter.  He  possesses  as  deadly  a 
weapon:  and  that  weapon  will  kill  at  a  distance. 
This  is  proper,  I  think.  There  are  more  lions  than 
hunters;  and,  from  our  point  of  view,  the  man  is 
more  important  than  the  beast.  The  game  is  not 
too  hazardous.  By  that  I  mean  that,  barring  sheer 

141 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

accident,  a  man  is  sure  to  come  out  all  right  provided 
he  does  accurately  the  right  thing.  In  other  words, 
it  is  a  dangerous  game  of  skill,  but  it  does  not  possess 
the  blind  danger  of  a  forest  in  a  hurricane,  say. 
Furthermore,  it  is  a  game  that  no  man  need  play 
unless  he  wants  to.  In  the  lion  country  he  may  go 
about  his  business  —  daytime  business  —  as  though 
he  were  home  at  the  farm. 

Such  being  the  case,  may  I  be  pardoned  for  in- 
truding one  of  my  own  small  ethical  ideas  at  this 
point,  with  the  full  realization  that  it  depends  upon 
an  entirely  personal  point  of  view.  As  far  as  my 
own  case  goes,  I  consider  it  poor  sportsmanship  ever 
to  refuse  a  lion-chance  merely  because  the  advan- 
tages are  not  all  in  my  favour.  After  all,  lion  hunt- 
ing is  on  a  different  plane  from  ordinary  shooting: 
it  is  a  challenge  to  war,  a  deliberate  seeking  for  mortal 
combat.  Is  it  not  just  a  little  shameful  to  pot  old 
felis  leo  —  at  long  range,  in  the  open,  near  his  kill, 
and  wherever  we  have  him  at  an  advantage  —  nine 
times,  and  then  to  back  out  because  that  advantage 
is  for  once  not  so  marked?  I  have  so  often  heard 
the  phrase,  "  I  let  him  (or  them)  alone.  It  was  not 
good  enough,"  meaning  that  the  game  looked  a  little 
risky. 

Do  not  misunderstand.  I  am  not  advising  that 
you  bull  ahead  into  the  long  grass,  or  that  alone. 


LIONS  AGAIN 

you  open  fire  on  a  half  dozen  lions  in  easy  range. 
Kind  providence  endowed  you  with  strategy,  and 
certainly  you  should  never  go  in  where  there  is  no 
show  for  you  to  use  your  weapon  effectively.  But 
occasionally  the  odds  will  be  against  you  and  you 
will  be  called  upon  to  take  more  or  less  of  a  chance. 
I  do  not  think  it  is  quite  square  to  quit  playing  merely 
because  for  once  your  opponent  has  been  dealt  the 
better  cards.  If.  there  are  too  many  of  them  see  if 
you  cannot  manoeuvre  them;  if  the  grass  is  long,  try 
every  means  in  your  power  to  get  them  out.  Stay 
with  them.  If  finally  you  fail,  you  will  at  least  have 
the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that  circumstances  alone 
have  defeated  you.  If  you  do  not  like  that  sort  of  a 
game,  stay  out  of  it  entirely. 


143 


XII 
MORE  LIONS 

NOR  do  the  last  remarks  of  the  preceding  chapter 
mean  that  you  shall  not  have  your  trophy  in 
peace.  Perhaps  excitement  and  a  slight  doubt  as 
to  whether  or  not  you  are  going  to  survive  do  not 
appeal  to  you;  but  nevertheless  you  would  like  a  lion 
skin  or  so.  By  all  means  shoot  one  lion,  or  two,  or 
three  in  the  safest  fashion  you  can.  But  after  that 
you  ought  to  play  the  game. 

The  surest  way  to  get  a  lion  is  to  kill  a  zebra,  cut 
holes  in  him,  fill  the  holes  with  strychnine,  and  come 
back  next  morning.  This  method  is  absolutely  safe. 

The  next  safest  way  is  to  follow  the  quarry  with  a 
pack  of  especially  trained  dogs.  The  lion  is  so 
busy  and  nervous  over  those  dogs  that  you  can  walk 
up  and  shoot  him  in  the  ear.  This  method  has  the 
excitement  of  riding  and  following,  the  joy  of  a 
grand  and  noisy  row,  and  the  fun  of  seeing  a  good  dog- 
fight. The  same  effect  can  be  got  chasing  wart-hogs, 
hyenas,  jackals  —  or  jack-rabbits.  The  objection 
is  that  it  wastes  a  noble  beast  in  an  inferior  game. 

144 


MORE  LIONS 

My  personal  opinion  is  that  no  man  is  justified  in 
following  with  dogs  any  large  animal  that  can  be 
captured  with  reasonable  certainty  without  them. 
The  sport  of  coursing  is  another  matter;  but  that  is 
quite  the  same  in  essence  whatever  the  size  of  the 
quarry.  If  you  want  to  kill  a  lion  or  so  quite  safely, 
and  at  the  same  time  enjoy  a  glorious  and  exciting 
gallop  with  lots  of  accompanying  row,  by  all  means 
follow  the  sport  with  hounds.  But  having  killed 
one  or  two  by  that  method,  quit.  Do  not  go  on  and 
clean  up  the  country.  You  can  do  it.  Poison  and 
hounds  are  the  sure  methods  of  finding  any  lions 
there  may  be  about;  and  after  the  first  few,  one  is 
about  as  justifiable  as  the  other.  If  you  want  the 
undoubtedly  great  joy  of  cross  country  pursuit,  send 
your  hounds  in  after  less  noble  game. 

The  third  safe  method  of  killing  a  lion  is  noc- 
turnal. You  lay  out  a  kill  beneath  a  tree,  and  climb 
the  tree.  Or  better,  you  hitch  out  a  pig  or  donkey 
as  live  bait.  When  the  lion  comes  to  this  free  lunch, 
you  try  to  see  him;  and,  if  you  succeed  in  that,  you 
try  to  shoot  him.  It  is  not  easy  to  shoot  at  night; 
nor  is  it  easy  to  see  in  the  dark.  Furthermore, 
lions  only  occasionally  bother  to  come  to  bait.  You 
may  roost  up  that  tree  many  nights  before  you  get  a 
chance.  Once  up,  you  have  to  stay  up;  for  it  is  most 
decidedly  not  safe  to  go  home  after  dark.  The  tropi-f 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

cal  night  in  the  highlands  is  quite  chilly.  Branches 
seem  to  be  quite  as  cramping  and  abrasive  under  the 
equator  as  in  the  temperate  zones.  Still,  it  is  one 
method. 

Another  is  to  lay  out  a  kill  and  visit  it  in  the  early 
morning.  There  is  more  to  this,  for  you  are  afoot, 
must  generally  search  out  your  beast  in  nearby  cover, 
and  can  easily  find  any  amount  of  excitement  in  the 
process. 

The  fourth  way  is  to  ride  the  lion.  The  hunter 
sees  his  quarry  returning  home  across  the  plains, 
perhaps;  or  jumps  it  from  some  small  bushy  ravine. 
At  once  he  spurs  his  horse  in  pursuit.  The  lion  will 
run  but  a  short  distance  before  coming  to  a  stop,  for 
he  is  not  particularly  long  either  of  wind  or  of  pa- 
tience. From  this  stand  he  almost  invariably 
charges.  The  astute  hunter,  still  mounted,  turns  and 
flees.  When  the  lion  gets  tired  of  chasing,  which  he 
does  in  a  very  short  time,  the  hunter  faces  about. 
At  last  the  lion  sits  down  in  the  grass,  waiting  for  the 
game  to  develop.  This  is  the  time  for  the  hunter  to 
dismount  and  to  take  his  shot.  Quite  likely  he 
must  now  stand  a  charge  afoot,  and  drop  his  beast 
before  it  gets  to  him. 

This  is  real  fun.  It  has  many  elements  of  safety, 
and  many  of  danger. 

To  begin  with,  the  hunter  at  this  game  generally 

146 


The  lioness  that  charged  when  I  had  only  the  Springfield 
and  no  gunbearer.     Also  Mavrouki  and  Memba  Sasa. 


a 

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bfl 

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4-< 
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XI 


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oj 


MORE  LIONS 

has  companions  to  back  him:  often  he  employs 
mounted  Somalis  to  round  the  lion  up  and  get  it  to 
stand.  The  charging  lion  is  quite  apt  to  make  for 
the  conspicuous  mounted  men  —  who  can  easily 
escape  —  ignoring  the  hunter  afoot.  As  the  game 
is  largely  played  in  the  open,  the  movements  of  the 
beast  are  easily  followed. 

On  the  other  hand,  there  is  room  for  mistake. 
The  hunter,  for  example,  should  never  follow  directly 
in  the  rear  of  his  lion,  but  rather  at  a  parallel  course 
off  the  beast's  flank.  Then,  if  the  lion  stops  sud- 
denly, the  man  does  not  overrun  before  he  can  check 
his  mount.  He  should  never  dismount  nearer  than 
a  hundred  and  fifty  yards  from  the  embayed  animal; 
and  should  never  try  to  get  off  while  the  lion  is 
moving  in  his  direction.  Then,  too,  a  hard  gallop 
is  not  conducive  to  the  best  of  shooting.  It  is  dif- 
ficult to  hold  the  front  bead  steady;  and  it  is  still 
more  difficult  to  remember  to  wait,  once  the  lion 
charges,  until  he  has  come  near  enough  for  a  sure 
shot.  A  neglect  in  the  inevitable  excitement  of  the 
moment  to  remember  these  and  a  dozen  other  small 
matters  may  quite  possibly  cause  trouble. 

Two  or  three  men  together  can  make  this  one  of 
the  most  exciting  mounted  games  on  earth;  with 
enough  of  the  give  and  take  of  real  danger  and 
battle  to  make  it  worth  while.  The  hunter,  how- 

147 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

ever,  who  employs  a  dozen  Somalis  to  ride  the  beast 
to  a  standstill,  after  which  he  goes  to  the  front,  has 
eliminated  much  of  the  thrill.  Nor  need  that  man's 
stay-at-home  family  feel  any  excessive  uneasiness 
over  Father  Killing  Lions  in  Africa. 

The  method  that  interested  me  more  than  any 
other  is  one  exceedingly  difficult  to  follow  except 
under  favourable  circumstances.  I  refer  to  tracking 
them  down  afoot.  This  requires  that  your  gun- 
bearer  should  be  an  expert  trailer,  for,  outside  the  fact 
that  following  a  soft-padded  animal  over  all  sorts 
of  ground  is  a  very  difficult  thing  to  do,  the  hunter 
should  be  free  to  spy  ahead.  It  is  necessary  also  to 
possess  much  patience  and  to  endure  under  many 
disappointments.  But  on  the  other  hand  there  is  in 
this  sport  a  continuous  keen  thrill  to  be  enjoyed  in 
no  other;  and  he  who  single  handed  tracks  down  and 
kills  his  lion  thus,  has  well  earned  the  title  of  shi- 
kari —  the  Hunter. 

And  the  last  method  of  all  is  to  trust  to  the  God  of 
Chance.  The  secret  of  success  is  to  be  always  ready 
to  take  instant  advantage  of  what  the  moment  of- 
fers. 

An  occasional  hunting  story  is  good  in  itself:  and 
the  following  will  also  serve  to  illustrate  what  I  have 
just  been  saying. 

We  were  after  that  prize,  the  greater  kudu,  and 

148 


MORE  LIONS 

in  his  pursuit  had  penetrated  into  some  very  rough 
country.  Our  hunting  for  the  time  being  was  over  a 
broad  bench,  perhaps  four  or  five  miles  wide,  below 
a  range  of  mountains.  The  bench  itself  broke  down 
in  sheer  cliffs  some  fifteen  hundred  feet,  but  one  did 
not  appreciate  that  fact  unless  he  stood  fairly  on  the 
edge  of  the  precipice.  To  all  intents  and  purposes 
we  were  on  a  rolling  grassy  plain,  with  low  hills  and 
cliffs,  and  a  most  beautiful  little  stream  running 
down  it  beneath  fine  trees. 

Up  to  now  our  hunting  had  gained  us  little  beside 
information :  that  kudu  had  occasionally  visited  the 
region,  that  they  had  not  been  there  for  a  month, 
and  that  the  direction  of  their  departure  had  been 
obscure.  So  we  worked  our  way  down  the  stream, 
trying  out  the  possibilities.  Of  other  game  there 
seemed  to  be  a  fair  supply:  impalla,  hartebeeste, 
zebra,  eland,  buffalo,  wart-hog,  sing-sing,  and  giraffe 
we  had  seen.  I  had  secured  a  wonderful  eland  and 
a  very  fine  impalla,  and  we  had  had  a  gorgeous  close- 
quarters  fight  with  a  cheetah.*  Now  C.  had  gone 
out,  a  three  weeks'  journey,  carrying  to  medical  at- 
tendance a  porter  injured  in  the  cheetah  fracas. 
Billy  and  I  were  continuing  the  hunt  alone. 
.  We  had  marched  two  hours,  and  were  pitching 

*This  animal  quite  disproved  the  assertion  that  cheetahs  never  assume  the 
aggressive.     He  charged  repeatedly. 

149 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

camp  under  a  single  tree  near  the  edge  of  the  bench. 
After  seeing  everything  well  under  way,  I  took  the 
Springfield  and  crossed  the  stream,  which  here  ran 
in  a  deep  canon.  My  object  was  to  see  if  I  could  get 
a  sing-sing  that  had  bounded  away  at  our  approach. 
I  did  not  bother  to  take  a  gunbearer,  because  I  did 
not  expect  to  be  gone  five  minutes. 

The  canon  proved  unexpectedly  deep  and  rough, 
and  the  stream  up  to  my  waist.  When  I  had  gained 
the  top,  I  found  grass  growing  patchily  from  six 
inches  to  two  feet  high;  and  small,  scrubby  trees 
from  four  to  ten  feet  tall,  spaced  regularly,  but  very 
scattered.  These  little  trees  hardly  formed  cover, 
but  their  aggregation  at  sufficient  distance  limited 
the  view. 

The  sing-sing  had  evidently  found  his  way  over  the 
edge  of  the  bench.  I  turned  to  go  back  to  camp. 
A  duiker  —  a  small  grass  antelope  —  broke  from  a 
little  patch  of  the  taller  grass,  rushed,  head  down  and 
headlong  after  their  fashion,  suddenly  changed  his 
mind,  and  dashed  back  again.  I  stepped  forward 
to  see  why  he  had  changed  his  mind  —  and  ran  into 
two  lions! 

They  were  about  thirty  yards  away,  and  sat  there 
on  their  haunches,  side  by  side,  staring  at  me  with 
expressionless  yellow  eyes.  I  stared  back.  The 
Springfield  is  a  good  little  gun,  and  three  times  be- 

150 


MORE  LIONS 

fore  I  had  been  forced  to  shoot  lions  with  it,  but  my 
real  "lion  gun"  with  which  I  had  done  best  work  was 
the  405  Winchester.  The  Springfield  is  too  light 
for  such  game.  Also  there  were  two  lions,  very 
close.  Also  I  was  quite  alone. 

As  the  game  stood,  it  hardly  looked  like  my  move; 
so  I  held  still  and  waited.  Presently  one  yawned, 
they  looked  at  each  other,  turned  quite  leisurely, 
and  began  to  move  away  at  a  walk. 

This  was  a  different  matter.  If  I  had  fired  while 
the  two  were  facing  me,  I  should  probably  have  had 
them  both  to  deal  with.  But  now  that  their  tails 
were  turned  toward  me,  I  should  very  likely  have  to 
do  with  only  the  one :  at  the  crack  of  the  rifle  the  other 
would  run  the  way  he  was  headed.  So  I  took  a 
careful  bead  at  the  lioness  and  let  drive. 

My  aim  was  to  cripple  the  pelvic  bone,  but,  un- 
fortunately, just  as  I  fired,  the  beast  wriggled  lithely 
sidewise  to  pass  around  a  tuft  of  grass,  so  that 
the  bullet  inflicted  merely  a  slight  flesh  wound 
on  the  rump.  She  whirled  like  a  flash,  and  as  she 
raised  her  head  high  to  locate  me,  I  had  time  to 
wish  that  the  Springfield  hit  a  trifle  harder  blow. 
Also  I  had  time  to  throw  another  cartridge  in  the 
barrel. 

The  moment  she  saw  me  she  dropped  her  head  and 
charged.  She  was  thoroughly  angry  and  came  very 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

fast.  I  had  just  enough  time  to  steady  the  gold 
bead  on  her  chest  and  to  pull  trigger. 

At  the  shot,  to  my  great  relief,  she  turned  bottom 
up,  and  I  saw  her  tail  for  an  instant  above  the  grass 
—  an  almost  sure  indication  of  a  bad  hit.  She 
thrashed  around,  and  made  a  tremendous  hullabaloo 
of  snarls  and  growls.  I  backed  out  slowly,  my  rifle 
ready.  It  was  no  place  for  me,  for  the  grass  was 
over  knee  high. 

Once  at  a  safe  distance  I  blazed  a  tree  with  my 
hunting  knife  and  departed  for  camp,  well  pleased  to 
be  out  of  it.  At  camp  I  ate  lunch  and  had  a  smoke; 
then  with  Memba  Sasa  and  Mavrouki  returned  to 
the  scene  of  trouble.  I  had  now  the  405  Winchester, 
a  light  and  handy  weapon  delivering  a  tremendous 
blow. 

We  found  the  place  readily  enough.  My  lioness 
had  recovered  from  the  first  shock  and  had  gone.  I 
was  very  glad  I  had  gone  first. 

The  trail  was  not  very  plain,  but  it  could  be  fol- 
lowed a  foot  or  so  at  a  time,  with  many  faults  and 
casts  back.  I  walked  a  yard  to  one  side  while  the 
men  followed  the  spoor.  Owing  to  the  abundance  of 
cover  it  was  very  nervous  work,  for  the  beast  might 
be  almost  anywhere,  and  would  certainly  charge. 
We  tried  to  keep  a  neutral  zone  around  ourselves  by 
tossing  stones  ahead  of  and  on  both  sides  of  our  line 

152 


MORE  LIONS 

of  advance.  My  own  position  was  not  bad,  for  I  had 
the  rifle  ready  in  my  hand,  but  the  men  were  in  dan- 
ger. Of  course  I  was  protecting  them  as  well  as  I 
could,  but  there  was  always  a  chance  that  the  lion- 
ess might  spring  on  them  in  such  a  manner  that  I 
would  be  unable  to  use  my  weapon.  Once  I  sug- 
gested that  as  the  work  was  dangerous,  they  could 
quit  if  they  wanted  to. 

"Hapana!"  they  both  refused  indignantly. 

We  had  proceeded  thus  for  half  a  mile  when  to  our 
relief,  right  ahead  of  us,  sounded  the  commanding, 
rumbling  half-roar,  half-growl  of  the  lion  at  bay. 

Instantly  Memba  Sasa  and  Mavrouki  dropped 
back  to  me.  We  all  peered  ahead.  One  of  the 
boys  made  her  out  first,  crouched  under  a  bush 
thirty-two  yards  away.  Even  as  I  raised  the  rifle 
she  saw  us  and  charged.  I  caught  her  in  the  chest 
before  she  had  come  ten  feet.  The  heavy  bullet 
stopped  her  dead.  Then  she  recovered  and  started 
forward  slowly,  very  weak,  but  game  to  the  last. 
Another  shot  finished  her. 

The  remarkable  point  of  this  incident  was  the 
action  of  the  little  Springfield  bullet.  Evidently 
the  very  high  velocity  of  this  bullet  from  its  shock  to 
the  nervous  system  had  delivered  a  paralyzing  blow 
sufficient  to  knock  out  the  lioness  for  the  time 
being.  Its  damage  to  tissue,  however,  was  slight.  In- 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

asmuch  as  the  initial  shock  did  not  cause  immediate 
death,  the  lioness  recovered  sufficiently  to  be  able, 
two  hours  later,  to  take  the  offensive.  This  point 
is  of  the  greatest  interest  to  the  student  of  ballistics; 
but  it  is  curious  even  to  the  ordinary  reader. 

That  is  a  very  typical  example  of  finding  lions 
by  sheer  chance.  Generally  a  man  is  out  looking 
for  the  smallest  kind  of  game  when  he  runs  up  against 
them.  Now  happened  to  follow  an  equally  typical 
example  of  tracking. 

The  next  day  after  the  killing  of  the  lioness  Mem- 
ba  Sasa,  Kongoni  and  I  dropped  off  the  bench,  and 
hunted  greater  kudu  on  a  series  of  terraces  fifteen 
hundred  feet  below.  All  we  found  were  two  rhino, 
some  sing-sing,  a  heard  of  impalla,  and  a  tremendous 
thirst.  In  the  meantime,  Mavrouki  had,  under 
orders,  scouted  the  foothills  of  the  mountain  range 
at  the  back.  He  reported  none  but  old  tracks  of 
kudu,  but  said  he  had  seen  eight  lions  not  far  from 
our  encounter  of  the  day  before. 

Therefore,  as  soon  next  morning  as  we  could  see 
plainly,  we  again  crossed  the  canon  and  the  waist- 
deep  stream.  I  had  with  me  all  three  of  the  gun 
men,  and  in  addition  two  of  the  most  courageous 
porters  to  help  with  the  tracking  and  the  looking. 

About  eight  o'clock  we  found  the  first  fresh  pad 
mark  plainly  outlined  in  an  isolated  piece  of  soft 

154 


MORE  LIONS 

earth.  Immediately  we  began  that  most  fascina- 
ting of  games  —  trailing  over  difficult  ground.  In 
this  we  could  all  take  part,  for  the  tracks  were  some 
hours  old,  and  the  cover  scanty.  Very  rarely  could 
we  make  out  more  than  three  successive  marks. 
Then  we  had  to  spy  carefully  for  the  slightest  in- 
dication of  direction.  Kongoni  in  especial  was  won- 
derful at  this,  and  time  and  again  picked  up  a  broken 
grass  blade  or  the  minutest  inch-fraction  of  disturbed 
earth.  We  moved  slowly,  in  long  hesitations  and 
castings  about,  and  in  swift  little  dashes  forward  of  a 
few  feet;  and  often  we  went  astray  on  false  scents, 
only  to  return  finally  to  the  last  certain  spot.  In 
this  manner  we  crossed  the  little  plain  with  the  scat- 
tered shrub  trees  and  arrived  at  the  edge  of  the  low 
bluff  above  the  stream  bottom. 

This  bottom  was  well  wooded  along  the  immediate 
bank  of  the  stream  itself,  fringed  with  low  thick 
brush,  and  in  the  open  spaces  grown  to  the  edges  with 
high,  green,  coarse  grass. 

As  soon  as  we  had  managed  to  follow  without  fault 
to  this  grass,  our  difficulties  of  trailing  were  at  an 
end.  The  lions'  heavy  bodies  had  made  distinct 
paths  through  the  tangle.  These  paths  went  for- 
ward sinuously,  sometimes  separating  one  from  the 
other,  sometimes  intertwining,  sometimes  combining 
into  one  for  a  short  distance.  We  could  not  deter- 

155 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

mine  accurately  the  number  of  beasts  that  had  made 
them. 

"They  have  gone  to  drink  water,"  said  Memba 
Sasa. 

We  slipped  along  the  twisting  paths,  alert  for 
indications;  came  to  the  edge  of  the  thicket,  stooped 
through  the  fringe,  and  descended  to  the  stream 
under  the  tall  trees.  The  soft  earth  at  the  water's 
edge  was  covered  with  tracks,  thickly,  overlaid  one 
over  the  other.  The  boys  felt  of  the  earth,  examined 
even  smelled,  and  came  to  the  conclusion  that  the 
beasts  must  have  watered  about  five  o'clock.  If 
so,  they  might  be  ten  miles  away,  or  as  many 
rods. 

We  had  difficulty  in  determining  just  where  the 
party  left  this  place,  until  finally  Kongoni  caught 
sight  of  suspicious  indications  over  the  way.  The 
lions  had  crossed  the  stream.  We  did  likewise, 
followed  the  trail  out  of  the  thicket,  into  the  grass, 
below  the  little  cliffs  parallel  to  the  stream,  back  into 
the  thicket,  across  the  river  once  more,  up  the  other 
side,  in  the  thicket  for  a  quarter  mile,  then  out  into 
the  grass  on  that  side,  and  so  on.  They  were  evi- 
dently wandering,  rather  idly,  up  the  general  course 
of  the  stream.  Certainly,  unlike  most  cats,  they 
did  not  mind  getting  their  feet  wet,  for  they  crossed 
the  stream  four  times. 

156 


MORE  LIONS 

At  last  the  twining  paths  in  the  shoulder-high  grass 
fanned  out  separately.  We  counted. 

"You  were  right,  Mavrouki,"  said  I,  "there  were 
eight." 

At  the  end  of  each  path  was  a  beaten-down  little 
space  where  evidently  the  beasts  had  been  lying 
down.  With  an  exclamation  the  three  gunbearers 
darted  forward  to  investigate.  The  lairs  were 
still  warm!  Their  occupants  had  evidently  made  off 
only  at  our  approach! 

Not  five  minutes  later  we  were  halted  by  a  low 
warning  growl  right  ahead.  We  stopped.  The 
boys  squatted  on  their  heels  close  to  me,  and  we  con- 
sulted in  whispers. 

Of  course  it  would  be  sheer  madness  to  attack 
eight  lions  in  grass  so  high  we  could  not  see  five  feet 
in  front  of  us.  That  went  without  saying.  On 
the  other  hand,  Mavrouki  swore  that  he  had  yester- 
day seen  no  small  cubs  with  the  band,  and  our  ex- 
amination of  the  tracks  made  in  soft  earth  seemed 
to  bear  him  out.  The  chances  were  therefore  that, 
unless  themselves  attacked  or  too  close  pressed,  the 
lions  would  not  attack  us.  By  keeping  just  in  their 
rear  we  might  be  able  to  urge  them  gently  along  un- 
til they  should  enter  more  open  cover.  Then  we 
could  see. 

Therefore  we  gave  the  owner  of  that  growl  about 

157 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

five  minutes  to  forget  it,  and  then  advanced  very 
cautiously.  We  soon  found  where  the  objector 
had  halted,  and  plainly  read  by  the  indications  where 
he  had  stood  for  a  moment  or  so,  and  then  moved 
on.  We  slipped  along  after. 

For  five  hours  we  hung  at  the  heels  of  that  band 
of  lions,  moving  very  slowly,  perfectly  willing  to 
halt  whenever  they  told  us  to,  and  going  forward 
again  only  when  we  became  convinced  that  they  too 
had  gone  on.  Except  for  the  first  half  hour,  we 
were  never  more  than  twenty  or  thirty  yards  from 
the  nearest  lion,  and  often  much  closer.  Three 
or  four  times  I  saw  slowly  gliding  yellow  bodies 
just  ahead  of  me,  but  in  the  circumstances 
it  would  have  been  sheer  stark  lunacy  to  have 
fired.  Probably  six  or  eight  times  —  I  did  not 
count  —  we  were  commanded  to  stop,  and  we  did 
stop. 

It  was  very  exciting  work,  but  the  men  never  fal- 
tered. Of  course  I  went  first,  in  case  one  of  the 
beasts  had  the  toothache  or  otherwise  did  not  play 
up  to  our  calculations  on  good  nature.  One  or  the 
other  of  the  gunbearers  was  always  just  behind  me. 
Only  once  was  any  comment  made.  Kongoni 
looked  very  closely  into  my  face. 

"There  are  very  many  lions,"  he  remarked  doubt- 
fully. 

158 


"O 


tuo 
S 
3 


•c 

CU 


MORE  LIONS 

"Very  many  lions,"  I  agreed,  as  though  assent- 
ing to  a  mere  statement  of  fact. 

Although  I  am  convinced  there  was  no  real  dan- 
ger, as  long  as  we  stuck  to  our  plan  of  campaign, 
nevertheless  it  was  quite  interesting  to  be  for  so  long 
a  period  so  near  these  great  brutes.  They  led  us 
for  a  mile  or  so  along  the  course  of  the  stream,  some- 
times on  one  side,  sometimes  on  the  other.  Several 
times  they  emerged  into  better  cover,  and  even  into 
the  open,  but  always  ducked  back  into  the  thick 
again  before  we  ourselves  had  followed  their  trail 
to  the  clear. 

At  noon  we  were  halted  by  the  usual  growl  just 
as  we  had  reached  the  edge  of  the  river.  So  we  sat 
down  on  the  banks  and  had  lunch. 

Finally  our  chance  came.  The  trail  led  us,  for 
the  dozenth  time,  from  the  high  grass  into  the  thicket 
along  the  river.  We  ducked  our  heads  to  enter. 
Memba  Sasa,  next  my  shoulder,  snapped  his  fingers 
violently.  Following  the  direction  of  the  brown  arm 
that  shot  over  my  shoulder,  I  strained  my  eyes  into 
the  dimness  of  the  thicket.  At  first  I  could  see  noth- 
ing at  all,  but  at  length  a  slight  motion  drew  my 
eye.  Then  I  made  out  the  silhouette  of  a  lion's 
head,  facing  us  steadily.  One  of  the  rear  guard  had 
again  turned  to  halt  us,  but  this  time  where  he  and 
his  surroundings  could  be  seen. 

159 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

Luckily  I  always  use  a  sheard  gold  bead  sight,  and 
even  in  the  dimness  of  the  tree-shaded  thicket  it 
showed  up  well.  The  beast  was  only  forty  yards 
away,  so  I  fired  at  his  head.  He  rolled  over  without 
a  sound. 

We  took  the  usual  great  precautions  in  determin- 
ing the  genuineness  of  his  demise,  then  carried  him 
into  the  open.  Strangely  enough  the  bullet  had 
gone  so  cleanly  into  his  left  eye  that  it  had  not  even 
broken  the  edge  of  the  eyelid;  so  that  when  skinned 
he  did  not  show  a  mark.  He  was  a  very  decent 
maned  lion,  three  feet  four  inches  at  the  shoulder, 
and  nine  feet  long  as  he  lay.  We  found  that  he  had 
indeed  been  the  rear  guard,  and  that  the  rest,  on  the 
other  side  of  the  thicket,  had  made  off  at  the  shot. 
So  in  spite  of  the  apparent  danger  of  the  situation, 
our  calculations  had  worked  out  perfectly.  Also  we 
had  enjoyed  a  half  day's  sport  of  an  intensity  quite 
impossible  to  be  extracted  from  any  other  method  of 
following  the  lion. 

In  trying  to  guess  how  any  particular  lions  may 
act,  however,  you  will  find  yourself  often  at  fault. 
The  lion  is  a  very  intelligent  and  crafty  beast,  and 
addicted  to  tricks.  If  you  follow  a  lion  to  a  small 
hill,  it  is  well  to  go  around  that  hill  on  the  side  op- 
posite to  that  taken  by  your  quarry.  You  are  quite 
likely  to  meet  him  for  he  is  clever  enough  thus  to  try 

160 


MORE  LIONS 

to  get  in  your  rear.  He  will  lie  until  you  have  act- 
ually passed  him  before  breaking  off.  He  will  cir- 
cle ahead,  then  back  to  confuse  his  trail.  And  when 
you  catch  sight  of  him  in  the  distance,  you  would 
never  suspect  that  he  knew  of  your  presence  at  all. 
He  saunters  slowly,  apparently  aimlessly,  along, 
pausing  often,  evidently  too  bored  to  take  any  in- 
terest in  life.  You  wait  quite  breathlessly  for  him 
to  pass  behind  cover.  Then  you  are  going  to  make 
a  very  rapid  advance,  and  catch  his  leisurely  re- 
treat. But  the  moment  old  Leo  does  pass  behind 
the  cover,  his  appearance  of  idle  stroller  vanishes. 
In  a  dozen  bounds  he  is  gone. 

That  is  what  makes  lion  hunting  delightful. 
There  are  some  regions,  very  near  settlements, 
where  it  is  perhaps  justifiable  to  poison  these  beasts. 
If  you  are  a  true  sportsman  you  will  confine  your 
hound-hunting  to  those  districts.  Elsewhere,  as 
far  as  playing  fair  with  a  noble  beast  is  concerned, 
you  may  as  well  toss  a  coin  to  see  which  you  shall 
take  —  your  pack  or  a  strychnine  bottle. 


161 


XIII 
ON  THE  MANAGING  OF  A  SAFARI 

WE  MADE  our  way  slowly  down  the  river.  As 
the  elevation  dropped,  the  temperature  rose. 
It  was  very  hot  indeed  during  the  day,  and  in  the 
evening  the  air  was  tepid  and  caressing,  and  musical 
with  the  hum  of  insects.  We  sat  about  quite  com- 
fortably in  our  pajamas,  and  took  our  fifteen  grains 
of  quinine  per  week  against  the  fever. 

The  character  of  the  jungle  along  the  river  changed 
imperceptibly,  the  dhum  palms  crowding  out  the 
other  trees;  until,  at  our  last  camp,  were  nothing 
but  palms.  The  wind  in  them  sounded  variously 
like  the  patter  or  the  gathering  onrush  of  rain.  On 
either  side  the  country  remained  unchanged, 
however.  The  volcanic  hills  rolled  away  to  the 
distant  ranges.  Everywhere  grew  sparsely  the 
low  thornbrush,  opening  sometimes  into  clear 
plains,  closing  sometimes  into  dense  thickets. 
One  morning  we  awoke  to  find  that  many  sup- 
posedly sober-minded  trees  had  burst  into  blos- 
som fairly  '  over  night.  They  were  red,  and 

162 


MANAGING  A  SAFARI 

yellow  and  white  that  before  were  green,  a  truly 
gorgeous  sight. 

Then  we  turned  sharp  to  the  right  and  began  to 
ascend  a  little  tributary  brook  coming  down  the 
wide  flats  from  a  cleft  in  the  hills.  This  was  pret- 
tily named  the  Isiola,  and,  after  the  first  mile  or  so, 
was  not  big  enough  to  afford  the  luxury  of  a  jungle 
of  its  own.  Its  banks  were  generally  grassy  and 
steep,  its  thickets  few,  and  its  little  trees  isolated 
in  parklike  spaces.  To  either  side  of  it,  and  almost 
at  its  level,  stretched  plains,  but  plains  grown  with 
scattered  brush  and  shrubs  so  that  at  a  mile  or  two 
one's  vista  was  closed.  But  for  all  its  scant  ten  feet 
of  width  the  Isiola  stood  upon  its  dignity  as  a  stream. 
We  discovered  that  when  we  tried  to  cross.  The 
men  floundered  waist-deep  on  uncertain  bottom; 
the  syces  received  much  unsympathetic  comment  for 
their  handling  of  the  animals,  and  we  had  to  get 
Billy  over  by  a  melodramatic  "bridge  of  life"  with 
B.,  F.,  myself,  and  Memba  Sasa  in  the  title  roles. 

Then  we  pitched  camp  in  the  open  on  the  other 
side,  sent  the  horses  back  from  the  stream  until 
after  dark,  in  fear  of  the  deadly  tsetse  fly,  and  pre- 
pared to  enjoy  a  good  exploration  of  the  neighbour- 
hood. Whereupon  M'ganga  rose  up  to  his  gaunt 
and  terrific  height  of  authority,  stretched  forth  his 
bony  arm  at  right  angles,  and  uttered  between  eight 

163 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

and  nine  thousand  commands  in  a  high  dynamic 
monotone  without  a  single  pause  for  breath.  These, 
supplemented  by  about  as  many  more,  resulted  in 
(a)  a  bridge  across  the  stream,  and  (b)  a  banda. 

A  banda  is  a  delightful  African  institution.  It 
springs  from  nothing  in  about  two  hours,  but  it 
takes  twenty  boys  with  a  vitriolic  M'ganga  back  of 
them  to  bring  it  about.  Some  of  them  carry  huge 
backloads  of  grass,  or  papyrus,  or  cat-tail  rushes,  as 
the  case  may  be;  others  lug  in  poles  of  various  lengths 
from  where  their  comrades  are  cutting  them  by 
means  of  their  pangas.  A  panga,  parenthetically,  is 
the  safari  man's  substitute  for  axe,  shovel,  pick, 
knife,  sickle,  lawn-mower,  hammer,  gatling  gun, 
world's  library  of  classics,  higher  mathematics,  grand 
opera,  and  toothpicks.  It  looks  rather  like  a  ma- 
chete with  a  very  broad  end  and  a  slight  curved  back. 
A  good  man  can  do  extraordinary  things  with  it. 
Indeed,  at  this  moment,  two  boys  are  with  this  ap- 
parently clumsy  implement  delicately  peeling  some 
of  the  small  thorn  trees,  from  the  bared  trunks  of 
which  they  are  stripping  long  bands  of  tough  inner 
bark. 

With  these  three  raw  materials  —  poles,  withes, 
and  grass  —  M'ganga  and  his  men  set  to  work. 
They  planted  their  corner  and  end  poles,  they  laid 
their  rafters,  they  completed  their  framework,  bind- 

164 


MANAGING  A  SAFARI 

ing  all  with  the  tough  withes;  then  deftly  they 
thatched  it  with  the  grass.  Almost  before  we  had 
settled  our  own  affairs,  M'ganga  was  standing  be- 
fore us  smiling.  Gone  now  was  his  mien  of  high 
indignation  and  swirling  energy. 

"Banda  naquisha,"  he  informed  us. 

And  we  moved  in  our  table  and  our  canvas  chairs; 
hung  up  our  water  bottles;  Billy  got  out  her  fancy 
work.  Nothing  could  be  pleasanter  nor  more  ap- 
propriate to  the  climate  than  this  wide  low  arbour, 
open  at  either  end  to  the  breezes,  thatched  so  thickly 
that  the  fierce  sun  could  nowhere  strike  through. 

The  men  had  now  settled  down  to  a  knowledge  of 
what  we  were  like;  and  things  were  going  smoothly. 
At  first  the  African  porter  will  try  it  on  to  see  just 
how  easy  you  are  likely  to  prove.  If  he  makes  up 
his  mind  that  you  really  are  easy,  then  you  are  in 
for  infinite  petty  annoyance,  and  possibly  open 
mutiny.  Therefore,  for  a  little  while,  it  is  necessary 
to  be  extremely  vigilant,  to  insist  on  minute  per- 
formance in  all  circumstances  where  later  you  might 
condone  an  omission.  For  the  same  reason  punish- 
ment must  be  more  frequent  and  more  severe  at  the 
outset.  It  is  all  a  matter  of  watching  the  temper  of 
the  men,  If  they  are  cheerful  and  willing,  you  are 
not  nearly  as  particular  as  you  would  be  were  their 
spirit  becoming  sullen.  Then  the  infraction  is  not 

165 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

so  important  in  itself  as  an  excuse  for  the  punish- 
ment. For  when  your  men  get  sulky,  you  watch 
vigilantly  for  the  first  and  faintest  excuse  to  inflict 
punishment. 

This  game  always  seemed  to  me  very  fascinating, 
when  played  right.  It  is  often  played  wrong. 
People  do  not  look  far  enough.  Because  they  see  that 
punishment  has  a  most  salutary  effect  on  morale,  and 
is  sometimes  efficacious  in  getting  things  done  that 
otherwise  would  lag,  they  jump  to  the  conclusion 
that  the  only  effective  way  to  handle  a  safari  is  by 
penalties.  By  this  I  do  not  at  all  mean  that  they 
act  savagely,  or  punish  to  brutal  excess.  Merely 
they  hold  rigidly  to  the  letter  of  the  work  and  the 
day's  discipline.  Because  it  is  sometimes  necessary 
to  punish  severely  slight  infractions  when  the  men's 
tempers  need  sweetening,  they  always  punish  slight 
infractions  severely. 

And  in  ordinary  circumstances  this  method  un- 
doubtedly results  in  a  very  efficient  safari.  Things 
are  done  smartly,  on  time,  with  a  snap.  The  day's 
march  begins  without  delay;, there  is  a  minimum  of 
straggling;  on  arrival  the  tents  are  immediately  got 
up  and  the  wood  and  water  fetched.  But  in  a  tight 
place,  men  so  handled  by  invariable  rule  are  very  apt 
to  sit  down  apathetically,  and  put  the  whole  thing 
up  to  the  white  man.  When  it  comes  time  to  help 

166 


MANAGING  A  SAFARI 

out  they  are  not  there.  The  contrast  with  a  well- 
disposed  safari  cannot  be  appreciated  by  one  who 
has  not  seen  both. 

The  safari-man  loves  a  master.  He  does  not  for 
a  moment  understand  any  well-meant  but  mis- 
placed efforts  on  your  part  to  lighten  his  work  below 
the  requirements  of  custom.  Always  he  will  beg 
you  to  ease  up  on  him,  to  accord  him  favour;  and  al- 
ways he  will  despise  you  if  you  yield.  The  relations 
of  man  to  man,  of  man  to  work,  are  all  long  since 
established  by  immemorial  distauri  —  custom  — • 
and  it  is  not  for  you  or  him  to  change  them  lightly. 
If  you  know  what  he  should  or  can  do,  and  hold  him 
rigidly  to  it,  he  will  respect  and  follow  you. 

But  in  order  to  keep  him  up  to  the  mark,  it  is  not 
always  advisable  to  light  into  him  with  a  whip, 
necessary  as  the  whip  often  is.  If  he  is  sullen,  or 
inclined  to  make  mischief,  then  that  is  the  crying 
requirement.  But  if  he  is  merely  careless,  or  a  little 
slow,  or  tired,  you  can  handle  him  in  other  ways. 
Ridicule  before  his  comrades  is  very  effective:  a  sort 
of  good-natured  guying,  I  mean.  "Ah!  very  tired!" 
uttered  in  the  right  tone  of  voice  has  brought  many 
a  loiterer  to  his  feet  as  effectively  as  the  kick  some 
men  feel  must  always  be  bestowed,  and  quite  with- 
out anger,  mind  you!  For  days  at  a  time  we  have 
kept  our  men  travelling  at  good  speed  by  comment- 

167 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

ing,  as  though  by  the  way,  after  we  had  arrived  in 
camp,  on  which  tribe  happened  to  come  in  at  the 
head. 

"Ah!  Kavirondos  came  in  first  to-night,"  we 
would  remark.  "Last  night  the  Monumwezis  were 
ahead." 

And  once,  actually,  by  this  method  we  succeeded 
in  working  up  such  a  feeling  of  rivalry  that  the 
Kikuyus,  the  unambitious,  weak  and  despised  Kiku- 
yus,  led  the  van! 

But  the  first  hint  of  insubordination,  of  intended 
insolence,  of  wilful  shirking  must  be  met  by  instant 
authority.  Occasionally,  when  the  situation  is  of 
the  quick  and  sharp  variety,  the  white  man  may  have 
to  mix  in  the  row  himself.  He  must  never  hesitate 
an  instant;  for  the  only  reason  he  alone  can  control 
so  many  is  that  he  has  always  controlled  them.  F. 
had  a  very  effective  blow,  or  shove,  which  I  found 
well  worth  adopting.  It  is  delivered  with  the  heel 
of  the  palm  to  the  man's  chin,  and  is  more  of  a  lift- 
ing, heaving  shove  than  an  actual  blow.  Its  effect 
is  immediately  upsetting.  Impertinence  is  best 
dealt  with  in  this  manner  on  the  spot.  Evidently 
intended  slowness  in  coming  when  called  is  also 
best  treated  by  a  flick  of  the  whip  —  and  forget- 
fulness.  And  so  with  a  half  dozen  others.  But 
any  more  serious  matter  should  be  decided  from  the 

168 


MANAGING  A  SAFARI 

throne  of  the  canvas  chair,  witness  should  be  heard, 
judgment  formally  pronounced,  and  execution  in- 
trusted to  the  askaris  or  gunbearers. 

It  is,  as  I  have  said,  a  most  interesting  game.  It 
demands  three  sorts  of  knowledge:  first,  what  a 
safari  man  is  capable  of  doing;  second,  what  he 
customarily  should  or  should  not  do;  third,  an  ability 
to  read  the  actual  intention  or  motive  back  of  his 
actions.  When  you  are  able  to  punish  or  hold  your 
hand  on  these  principles,  and  not  merely  because 
things  have  or  have  not  gone  smoothly  or  right, 
then  you  are  a  good  safari  manager.  There  are 
mighty  few  of  them. 

As  for  punishment,  that  is  quite  simply  the  whip. 

The  average  writer  on  the  country  speaks  of  this 
with  hushed  voice  and  averted  face  as  a  necessity 
but  as  something  to  be  deprecated  and  passed  over 
as  quickly  as  possible.  He  does  this  because  he 
thinks  he  ought  to.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  such  an 
attitude  is  all  poppycock.  In  the  flogging  of  a 
white  man,  or  a  black  who  suffers  from  such  a 
punishment  in  his  soul  as  well  as  his  body,  this  is 
all  very  well.  But  the  safari  man  expects  it,  it 
doesn't  hurt  his  feelings  in  the  least,  it  is  ancient 
custom.  As  well  sentimentalize  over  necessary 
schoolboy  punishment,  or  over  father  paddy-whack- 
ing little  Willie  when  little  Willie  has  been  a  bad 

169 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

boy.  The  chances  are  your  porter  will  leap  to  his 
feet,  crack  his  heels  together  and  depart  with  a 
whoop  of  joy,  grinning  from  ear  to  ear.  Or  he  may 
draw  himself  up  and  salute  you,  military  fashion, 
again  with  a  grin.  In  any  case  his  "soul"  is  not 
"seared"  a  little  bit,  and  there  is  no  sense  in  your- 
self feeling  about  it  as  though  it  were. 

At  another  slant  the  justice  you  will  dispense  to 
your  men  differs  from  our  own.  Again  this  is  be- 
cause of  the  teaching  long  tradition  has  made  part 
of  their  mental  make-up.  Our  own  belief  is  that  it 
is  better  to  let  two  guilty  men  go  than  to  punish  one 
innocent.  With  natives  it  is  the  other  way  about. 
If  a  crime  is  committed  the  guilty  must  be  punished. 
Preferably  he  alone  is  to  be  dealt  with;  but  in  case 
it  is  impossible  to  identify  him,  then  all  the  members 
of  the  first  inclusive  unit  must  be  brought  to  ac- 
count. This  is  the  native  way  of  doing  things;  is 
the  only  way  the  native  understands;  and  is  the  only 
way  that  in  his  mind  true  justice  is  answered.  Thus 
if  a  sheep  is  stolen,  the  thief  must  be  caught  and 
punished.  Suppose,  however  it  is  known  to  what 
family  the  thief  belongs,  but  the  family  refuses  to 
disclose  which  of  its  members  committed  the  theft: 
then  each  member  must  be  punished  for  sheep  steal- 
ing; or  If  not  the  family,  then  the  tribe  must  make 
restitution.  But  punishment  must  be  inflicted. 

170 


MANAGING  A  SAFARI 

There  is  an  essential  justice  to  recommend  this, 
outside  the  fact  that  it  has  with  the  native  all  the 
solidity  of  accepted  ethics,  and  it  certainly  helps  to 
run  the  real  criminal  to  earth.  The  innocent  some- 
times suffers  innocently,  but  not  very  often;  and 
our  own  records  show  that  in  that  respect  with  us 
it  is  the  same.  This  is  not  the  place  to  argue  the 
right  or  wrong  of  the  matter  from  our  own  standpoint 
but  to  recognize  the  fact  that  it  is  right  from  theirs, 
and  to  act  accordingly.  Thus  in  case  of  theft  of 
meat,  or  something  that  cannot  be  traced,  it  is  well 
to  call  up  the  witnesses,  to  prove  the  alibis,  and  then 
to  place  the  issue  squarely  up  to  those  that  remain. 
There  may  be  but  two,  or  there  may  be  a  dozen. 

"I  know  you  did  not  all  steal  the  meat,"  you  must 
say,  "but  I  know  that  one  of  you  did.  Unless  I 
know  which  one  that  is  by  to-morrow  morning  I  will 
kiboko  all  of  you.  Bass!" 

Perhaps  occasionally  you  may  have  to  kiboko  the 
lot,  in  the  full  knowledge  that  most  are  innocent. 
That  seems  hard;  and  your  heart  will  misgive  you. 
Harden  it.  The  "innocent"  probably  know  per- 
fectly well  who  the  guilty  man  is.  And  the  inci- 
dent builds  for  the  future. 

I  had  intended  nowhere  to  comment  on  the  poli- 
tics or  policies  of  the  country.  Nothing  is  more 
silly  than  the  casual  visitor's  snap  judgments  on 

171 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

how  a  country  is  run.  Nevertheless,  I  may  perhaps 
be  pardoned  for  suggesting  that  the  Government 
would  strengthen  its  hand,  and  aid  its  few  straggling 
settlers  by  adopting  this  native  view  of  retributions. 
For  instance,  at  present  it  is  absolutely  impossible 
to  identify  individual  sheep  and  cattle  stealers. 
They  operate  stealthily  and  at  night.  If  the  Gov- 
ernment cannot  identify  the  actual  thief,  it  gives 
the  matter  up.  As  a  consequence  a  great  hardship 
is  inflicted  on  the  settler,  and  an  evil  increases. 
If,  however,  the  Government  would  hold  the  vil- 
lage, the  district,  or  the  tribe  responsible,  and  exact 
just  compensation  from  such  units  in  every  case, 
the  evil  would  very  suddenly  come  to  an  end.  And 
the  native's  respect  for  the  white  man  would  climb 
in  the  scale. 

Once  the  safari  man  gets  confidence  in  his  master, 
that  confidence  is  complete.  The  white  man's  duties 
are  in  his  mind  clearly  defined.  His  job  is  to  see 
that  the  black  man  is  fed,  is  watered,  is  taken  care  of 
in  every  way.  The  ordinary  porter  considers  him- 
self quite  devoid  of  responsibility.  He  is  also  an 
improvident  creature,  for  he  drinks  all  his  water 
when  he  gets  thirsty,  no  matter  how  long  and  hot  the 
journey  before  him;  he  eats  his  rations  all  up  when 
he  happens  to  get  hungry,  two  days  before  next  dis- 
tribution time;  he  straggles  outrageously  at  times 

172 


MANAGING  A  SAFARI 

and  has  to  be  rounded  up;  he  works  three  months 
and,  on  a  whim,  deserts  two  days  before  the  end  of 
his  journey,  thus  forfeiting  all  his  wages.  Once  two 
porters  came  to  us  for  money. 

"What  for?"  asked  C. 

"'To  buy  a  sheep,"  said  they. 

For  two  months  we  had  been  shooting  them  all 
the  game  meat  they  could  eat,  but  on  this  occasion 
two  days  had  intervened  since  the  last  kill.  If 
they  had  been  on  trading  safari  they  would  have  had 
no  meat  at  all.  A  sheep  cost  six  rupees  in  that 
country:  and  they  were  getting  but  ten  rupees  a 
month  as  wages.  In  view  of  the  circumstances,  and 
for  their  own  good,  we  refused.  Another  man  once 
insisted  on  purchasing  a  cake  of  violet-scented  soap 
for  a  rupee.  Their  chief  idea  of  a  wild  time  in 
Nairobi,  after  return  from  a  long  safari,  is  to  sit  in  a 
chair  and  drink  tea.  For  this  they  pay  exorbitantly 
at  the  Somali  so-called  "hotels."  It  is  a  strange 
sight.  But  then,  I  have  seen  cowboys  off  the  range 
or  lumberjacks  from  the  river  do  equally  extrav- 
agant and  foolish  things. 

On  the  other  hand  they  carry  their  loads  well, 
they  march  tremendously,  they  know  their  camp 
duties  and  they  do  them.  Under  adverse  circum- 
stances they  are  good-natured.  I  remember  C.  and 
I,  being  belated  and  lost  in  a  driving  rain.  We  wan- 

173 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

dered  until  nearly  midnight.  The  four  or  five  men 
with  us  were  loaded  heavily  with  the  meat  and  tro- 
phy of  a  roan.  Certainly  they  must  have  been  very 
tired;  for  only  occasionally  could  we  permit  them  to 
lay  down  their  loads.  Most  of  the  time  we  were 
actually  groping,  over  boulders,  volcanic  rocks, 
fallen  trees  and  all  sorts  of  tribulation.  The  men 
took  it  as  a  huge  joke,  and  at  every  pause  laughed 
consumedly. 

In  making  up  a  safari  one  tries  to  mix  in  four  or 
five  tribes.  This  prevents  concerted  action  in  case 
of  trouble,  for  no  one  tribe  will  help  another.  They 
vary  both  in  tribal  and  individual  characteristics, 
of  course.  For  example,  the  Kikuyus  are  docile 
but  mediocre  porters;  the  Kavirondos  strong  carriers 
but  turbulent  and  difficult  to  handle.  You  are 
very  lucky  if  you  happen  on  a  camp  jester,  one  of 
the  sort  that  sings,  shouts,  or  jokes  while  on  the 
march.  He  is  probably  not  much  as  a  porter,  but 
he  is  worth  his  wages  nevertheless.  He  may  or  may 
not  aspire  to  his  giddy  eminence.  We  had  one  droll- 
faced  little  Kavirondo  whose  very  expression  made 
one  laugh,  and  whose  rueful  remarks  on  the  harsh- 
ness of  his  lot  finally  ended  by  being  funny.  His 
name  got  to  be  a  catchword  in  camp. 

"Mualo!  Mualo!"  the  men  would  cry,  as  they 
heaved  their  burdens  to  their  heads;  and  all  day 


MANAGING  A  SAFARI 

long  their  war  cry  would  ring  out,  "Mualo!"  fol- 
lowed by  shrieks  of  laughter. 

Of  the  other  type  was  Sulimani,  a  big,  one-eyed 
Monumwezi,  who  had  a  really  keen  wit  coupled 
with  an  earnest,  solemn  manner.  This  man  was  no 
buffoon,  however;  and  he  was  a  good  porter,  always 
at  or  near  the  head  of  the  procession.  In  the  great 
jungle  south  of  Kenia  we  came  upon  Cuninghame. 
When  the  head  of  our  safari  reached  the  spot  Suli- 
mani left  the  ranks  and,  his  load  still  aloft  danced 
solemnly  in  front  of  Cuninghame,  chanting  some- 
thing in  a  loud  tone  of  voice.  Then  with  a  final 
deep  "Jambo!"  to  his  old  master  he  rejoined  the 
safari.  When  the  day  had  stretched  to  weariness 
and  the  men  had  fallen  to  a  sullen  plodding,  Suli- 
mani's  vigorous  song  could  always  set  the  safari 
sticks  tapping  the  sides  of  the  chop  boxes. 

He  carried  part  of  the  tent,  and  the  next  best 
men  were  entrusted  with  the  cook  outfit  and  our 
personal  effects.  It  was  a  point  of  honour  with 
these  men  to  be  the  first  in  camp.  The  rear,  the 
very  extreme  and  straggling  rear,  was  brought  up 
by  worthless  porters  with  loads  of  cornmeal  —  and 
the  weary  askaris  whose  duty  it  was  to  keep  astern 
and  herd  the  lot  in. 


175 


XIV 
A  DAY  ON  THE  ISIOLA 

EARLY  one  morning  —  we  were  still  on  the 
Isiola  —  we  set  forth  on  our  horses  to  ride 
across  the  rolling,  brush-grown  plain.  Our  inten- 
tion was  to  proceed  at  right  angles  to  our  own  little 
stream  until  we  had  reached  the  forest  growth  of 
another,  which  we  could  dimly  make  out  eight  or 
ten  miles  distant.  Billy  went  with  us,  so  there  were 
four  a-horseback.  Behind  us  trudged  the  gun- 
bearers,  and  the  syces,  and  after  them  straggled  a 
dozen  or  fifteen  porters. 

The  sun  was  just  up,  and  the  air  was  only  tepid 
as  yet.  From  patches  of  high  grass  whirred  and 
rocketed  grouse  of  two  sorts.  They  were  so  much 
like  our  own  ruffed  grouse  and  prairie  chicken  that  I 
could  with  no  effort  imagine  myself  once  more  a 
boy  in  the  coverts  of  the  Middle  West.  Only  before 
us  we  could  see  the  stripes  of  trotting  zebra  disap- 
pearing; and  catch  the  glint  of  light  on  the  bayonets 
of  the  oryx.  Two  giraffes  galumphed  away  to  the 
right.  Little  grass  antelope  darted  from  clump  to 

176 


A  DAY  ON  THE  ISIOLA 

clump  of  grass.  Once  we  saw  gerenuk  —  oh,  far 
away  in  an  impossible  distance.  Of  course  we  tried 
to  stalk  them;  and  as  usual  we  failed.  The  gerenuk 
we  had  come  to  look  upon  as  our  Lesser  Hoodoo. 

The  beast  is  a  gazelle  about  as  big  as  a  black- 
tailed  deer.  His  peculiarity  is  his  excessively  long 
neck,  a  good  deal  on  the  giraffe  order.  With  it  he 
crops  browse  above  high  tide  mark  of  other  animals, 
especially  when  as  often  happens  he  balances  cleverly 
on  his  hind  legs.  By  means  of  it  also  he  can,  with 
his  body  completely  concealed,  look  over  the  top  of 
ordinary  cover  and  see  you  long  before  you  have 
made  out  his  inconspicuous  little  head.  Then  he 
departs.  He  seems  to  have  a  lamentable  lack  of 
healthy  curiosity  about  you.  In  that  respect  he 
should  take  lessons  from  the  kongoni.  After  that 
you  can  follow  him  as  far  as  you  please;  you  will  get 
only  glimpses  at  three  or  four  hundred  yards. 

We  remounted  sadly  and  rode  on.  The  surface 
of  the  ground  was  rather  soft,  scattered  with  round 
rocks  the  size  of  a  man's  head,  and  full  of  pig  holes. 

"  Cheerful  country  to  ride  over  at  speed,"  remarked 
Billy.  Later  in  the  day  we  had  occasion  to  remem- 
ber that  statement. 

The  plains  led  us  ever  on.  First  would  be  a  band 
of  scattered  brush  growing  singly  and  in  small 
clumps:  then  a  little  open  prairie;  then  a  narrow, 

177 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

long  grass  swale;  then  perhaps  a  low,  long  hill  with 
small  single  trees  and  rough,  volcanic  footing.  Ten 
thousand  things  kept  us  interested.  Game  was 
everywhere,  feeding  singly,  in  groups,  in  herds, 
game  of  all  sizes  and  descriptions.  The  rounded 
ears  of  jackals  pointed  at  us  from  the  grass.  Hun- 
dreds of  birds  balanced  or  fluttered  about  us,  birds 
of  all  sizes  from  the  big  ground  hornbill  to  the  lit- 
tlest hummers  and  sun  birds.  Overhead,  across 
the  wonderful  variegated  sky  of  Africa  the  broad- 
winged  carrion  hunters  and  birds  of  prey  wheeled. 
In  all  our  stay  on  the  Isiola  we  had  not  seen  a  single 
rhino  track,  so  we  rode  quite  care  free  and  happy. 
Finally,  across  a  glade,  not  over  a  hundred  and 
fifty  yards  away,  we  saw  a  solitary  bull  oryx  stand- 
ing under  a  bush.  B.  wanted  an  oryx.  We  dis- 
cussed this  one  idly.  He  looked  to  be  a  decent  oryx, 
but  nothing  especial.  However,  he  offered  a  very 
good  shot;  so  B., after  some  hesitation, decided  to  take 
it.  It  proved  to  be  by  far  the  best  specimen  we 
shot,  the  horns  measuring  thirty-six  and  three 
fourths  inches!  Almost  immediately  after,  two  of 
the  rather  rare  striped  hyenas  leaped  from  the  grass 
and  departed  rapidly  over  the  top  of  a  hill.  We 
opened  fire,  and  F.  dropped  one  of  them.  By  the 
time  these  trophies  were  prepared,  the  sun  had 
mounted  high  in  the  heavens,  and  it  was  getting  hot. 

178 


A  DAY  ON  THE  ISIOLA 

Accordingly  we  abandoned  that  still  distant  river 
and  swung  away  in  a  wide  circle  to  return  to  camp. 

Several  minor  adventures  brought  us  to  high 
noon  and  the  heat  of  the  day.  B.  had  succeeded  in 
drawing  a  prize,  one  of  the  Grevy's  or  mountain 
zebra.  He  and  the  gunbearers  engaged  themselves 
with  that,  while  we  sat  under  the  rather  scanty  shade 
of  a  small  thorn  tree  and  had  lunch.  Here  we  had  a 
favourable  chance  to  observe  that  very  common,  but 
always  wonderful  phenomenon,  the  gathering  of  the 
carrion  birds.  Within  five  minutes  after  the  stoop 
of  the  first  vulture  above  the  carcass,  the  sky  im- 
mediately over  that  one  spot  was  fairly  darkened 
with  them.  They  were  as  thick  as  midges  —  or  as 
ducks  used  to  be  in  California.  All  sizes  were  there 
from  the  little  carrion  crows  to  the  great  dignified 
vultures  and  marabouts  and  eagles.  The  small  fry 
flopped  and  scolded,  and  rose  and  fell  in  a  dense 
mass;  the  marabouts  walked  with  dignified  pace  to 
and  fro  through  the  grass  all  about.  As  far  as  the 
eye  could  penetrate  the  blue,  it  could  make  out  more 
and  yet  more  of  the  great  soarers  stooping  with 
half  bent  wings.  Below  we  could  see  uncertainly 
through  the  shimmer  of  the  mirage  the  bent  forms  of 
the  men. 

We  ate  and  waited;  and  after  a  little  we  dozed.  I 
was  awakened  suddenly  by  a  tremendous  rushing 

179 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

roar,  like  the  sound  of  a  not  too  distant  waterfall. 
The  group  of  men  were  plodding  toward  us  carrying 
burdens.  And  like  plummets  the  birds  were 
dropping  straight  down  from  the  heavens,  spreading 
wide  their  wings  at  the  last  moment  to  check  their 
speed.  This  made  the  roaring  sound  that  had 
awakened  me. 

A  wide  spot  in  the  shimmer  showed  black  and 
struggling  against  the  ground.  I  arose  and  walked 
over,  meeting  halfway  B.  and  the  men  carrying  the 
meat.  It  took  me  probably  about  two  minutes  to 
reach  the  place  where  the  zebra  had  been  killed. 
Hundreds,  perhaps  thousands,  of  the  great  birds 
were  standing  idly  about;  a  dozen  or  so  were  flap- 
ping and  scrambling  in  the  centre.  I  stepped  into 
view.  With  a  mighty  commotion  they  all  took  wing 
clumsily,  awkwardly,  reluctantly.  A  trampled, 
bloody  space  and  the  larger  bones,  picked  absolutely 
clean,  was  all  that  remained!  In  less  than  two 
minutes  the  job  had  been  done! 

"You're  certainly  good  workmen!"  I  exclaimed, 
"but  I  wonder  how  you  all  make  a  living!" 

We  started  the  men  on  to  camp  with  the  meat,  and 
ourselves  rested  under  the  shade.  The  day  had 
been  a  full  and  interesting  one;  but  we  considered 
it  as  finished.  Remained  only  the  hot  journey  back 
to  camp. 

180 


•3 

o 


-8 

N 


IH 

o 


A  DAY  ON  THE  ISIOLA 

After  a  half  hour  we  mounted  again  and  rode  on 
slowly.  The  sun  was  very  strong  and  a  heavy  shim- 
mer clothed  the  plain.  Through  this  shimmer  we 
caught  sight  of  something  large  and  black  and  flap- 
ping. It  looked  like  a  crow  —  or,  better,  a  scare- 
crow —  crippled,  half  flying,  half  running,  with 
waving  wings  or  arms,  now  dwindling,  now  gigantic 
as  the  mirage  caught  it  up  or  let  it  drop.  As  we 
watched,  it  developed,  and  we  made  it  out  to  be  a 
porter,  clad  in  a  long,  ragged  black  overcoat,  run- 
ning zigzag  through  the  bushes  in  our  direction. 

The  moment  we  identified  it  we  spurred  our  horses 
forward.  As  my  horse  leaped,  Memba  Sasa  snatched 
the  Springfield  from  my  left  hand  and  forced  the 
405  Winchester  upon  me.  Clever  Memba  Sasa! 
He  no  more  than  we  knew  what  was  up,  but  shrewdly 
concluded  that  whatever  it  was  it  needed  a  heavy 
gun. 

As  we  galloped  to  meet  him,  the  porter  stopped. 
We  saw  him  to  be  a  very  long-legged,  raggedy  youth 
whom  we  had  nicknamed  the  Marabout  because  of 
his  exceedingly  long,  lean  legs,  the  fact  that  his 
breeches  were  white,  short  and  baggy,  and  because 
he  kept  his  entire  head  shaved  close.  He  called  him- 
self Fundi,  which  means  The  Expert,  a  sufficient 
indication  of  his  confidence  in  himself. 

He  waited  us  leaning  on  his  safari  stick,  panting 
181 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

heavily,  the  sweat  running  off  his  face  in  splashes. 
"Simba!"*  said  he,  and  immediately  set  off  on  a 
long,  easy  lope  ahead  of  us.  We  pulled  down  to  a 
trot  and  followed  him. 

At  the  end  of  a  half  mile  we  made  out  a  man  up  a 
tree.  Fundi,  out  of  breath,  stopped  short  and 
pointed  to  this  man.  The  latter,  as  soon  as  he  had 
seen  us,  commenced  to  scramble  down.  We  spurred 
forward  to  find  out  where  the  lions  had  been  last 
seen. 

Then  Billy  covered  herself  with  glory  by  seeing 
them  first.  She  apprised  us  of  that  fact  with  some 
excitement.  We  saw  the  long,  yellow  bodies  of  two 
of  them  disappearing  in  the  edge  of  the  brush  about 
three  hundred  yards  away.  With  a  wild  whoop  we 
tore  after  them  at  a  dead  run. 

Then  began  a  wild  ride.  Do  you  remember  Billy's 
remark  about  the  nature  of  the  footing?  Before 
long  we  closed  in  near  enough  to  catch  occasional 
glimpses  of  the  beasts,  bounding  easily  along.  At 
that  moment  B.'s  horse  went  down  in  a  heap.  None 
of  us  thought  for  a  moment  of  pulling  up.  I  looked 
back  to  see  B.  getting  up  again,  and  thought  I 
caught  fragments  of  encouraging-sounding  language. 
Then  my  horse  went  down.  I  managed  to  hold  my 
rifle  clear,  and  to  cling  to  the  reins.  Did  you  ever 

"Lion 

182 


A  DAY  ON  THE  ISIOLA 

try  to  get  on  a  somewhat  demoralized  horse  in  a 
frantic  hurry,  when  all  your  friends  were  getting  far- 
ther away  every  minute,  and  so  lessening  your 
chances  of  being  in  the  fun?  I  began  to  under- 
stand perfectly  B.'s  remarks  of  a  moment  before. 
However,  on  I  scrambled,  and  soon  overtook  the 
hunt. 

We  dodged  in  and  out  of  bushes,  and  around  and 
over  holes.  Every  few  moments  we  would  catch 
glimpse  of  one  of  those  silently  bounding  lions,  and 
then  we  would  let  out  a  yell.  Also  every  few  mo- 
ments one  or  the  other  of  us  would  go  down  in  a 
heap,  and  would  scramble  up  and  curse,  and  remount 
hastily.  Billy  had  better  luck.  She  had  no  gun, 
and  belonged  a  little  in  the  rear  anyway,  but  was 
coming  along  game  as  a  badger  for  all  that. 

My  own  horse  had  the  legs  of  the  others  quite 
easily,  and  for  that  reason  I  was  ahead  far  enough  to 
see  the  magnificent  sight  of  five  lions  sideways  on, 
all  in  a  row,  standing  in  the  grass  gazing  at  me  with 
a  sort  of  calm  and  impersonal  dignity.  I  wheeled 
my  horse  immediately  so  as  to  be  ready  in  case  of 
a  charge,  and  yelled  to  the  others  to  hurry  up. 
While  I  sat  there,  they  moved  slowly  off  one  after  the 
other,  so  that  by  the  time  the  men  had  come,  the 
lions  had  gone.  We  now  had  no  difficulty  in  run- 
ning into  them  again.  Once  more  my  better  ani- 

183 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

mal  brought  me  to  the  lead,  so  that  for  the  second 
time  I  drew  up  facing  the  lions,  and  at  about  one 
hundred  yards  range.  One  by  one  they  began  to 
leave  as  before,  very  leisurely  and  haughtily,  until 
a  single  old  maned  fellow  remained.  He,  however, 
sat  there,  his  great  round  head  peering  over  the  top 
of  the  grass. 

"Well,"  he  seemed  to  say,  "here  I  am,  what  do 
you  intend  to  do  about  it?" 

The  others  arrived,  and  we  all  dismounted.  B. 
had  not  yet  killed  his  lion,  so  the  shot  was  his. 
Billy  very  coolly  came  up  behind  and  held  his  horse. 
I  should  like  here  to  remark  that  Billy  is  very  ter- 
rified of  spiders.  F.  and  I  stood  at  the  ready,  and 
B.  sat  down. 

Riding  fast  an  exciting  mile  or  so,  getting  chucked 
on  your  head  two  or  three  times,  and  facing  your 
first  lion  are  none  of  them  conducive  to  steady  shoot- 
ing. The  first  shot  therefore  went  high,  but  the 
second  hit  the  lion  square  in  the  chest,  and  he  rolled 
over  dead. 

We  all  danced  a  little  war  dance,  and  congratu- 
lated B.  and  turned  to  get  the  meaning  of  a  queer 
little  gurgling  gasp  behind  us.  There  was  Fundi! 
That  long-legged  scarecrow,  not  content  with  run- 
ning to  get  us  and  then  back  again,  had  trailed  us 
the  whole  distance  of  our  mad  chase  over  broken 

184 


A  DAY  ON  THE  ISIOLA 

ground  at  a  terrific  speed  in  order  to  be  in  at  the 
death.  And  he  was  just  about  all  in  at  the  death. 
He  could  barely  gasp  his  breath,  his  eyes  stuck  out; 
he  looked  close  to  apoplexy. 

"Bwana!  bwana!"  was  all  he  could  say.  "Mas- 
ter! master!" 

We  shook  hands  with  Fundi. 

"My  son,"  said  I,  "you're  a  true  sport:  and  you'll 
surely  get  yours  later." 

He  did  not  understand  me,  but  he  grinned.  The 
gunbearers  began  to  drift  in,  also  completely  pumped. 
They  set  up  a  feeble  shout  when  they  saw  the  dead 
lion.  It  was  a  good  maned  beast,  three  feet  six 
inches  at  the  shoulder,  and  nine  feet  long. 

We  left  Fundi  with  the  lion,  instructing  him  to 
stay  there  until  some  of  the  other  men  came  up. 
We  remounted  and  pushed  on  slowly  in  hopes  of 
coming  on  one  of  the  others. 

Here  and  there  we  rode,  our  courses  interweaving, 
looking  eagerly.  And  lo!  through  a  tiny  opening 
in  the  brush  we  espied  one  of  those  elusive  gerenuk 
standing  not  over  one  hundred  yards  away.  Where- 
upon I  dismounted  and  did  some  of  the  worst  shooting 
I  perpetrated  in  Africa,  for  I  let  loose  three  times  at 
him  before  I  landed.  But  land  I  did,  and  there  was 
one  Lesser  Hoodoo  broken.  Truly  this  was  our  day. 

We  measured  him  and  started  to  prepare  the  tro- 
185 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

phy,  when  to  us  came  Mavrouki  and  a  porter,  quite 
out  of  breath,  but  able  to  tell  us  that  they  had  been 
scouting  around  and  had  seen  two  of  the  lions. 
Then,  instead  of  leaving  one  up  a  tree  to  watch,  both 
had  come  pell-mell  to  tell  us  all  about  it.  We 
pointed  this  out  to  them,  and  called  their  attention 
to  the  fact  that  the  brush  was  wide,  that  lions  are 
not  stationary  objects,  and  that,  unlike  the  leopard, 
they  can  change  their  spots  quite  readily.  How- 
ever, we  remounted  and  went  to  take  a  look. 

Of  course  there  was  nothing.  So  we  rode  on, 
rather  aimlessly,  weaving  in  and  out  of  the  bushes 
and  open  spaces.  I  think  we  were  all  a  little  tired 
from  the  long  day  and  the  excitement,  and  hence  a 
bit  listless.  Suddenly  we  were  fairly  shaken  out  of 
our  saddles  by  an  angry  roar  just  ahead.  Usually 
a  lion  growls,  low  and  thunderous,  when  he  wants, 
to  warn  you  that  you  have  gone  about  far  enough; 
but  this  one  was  angry  all  through  at  being  followed 
about  so  much,  and  he  just  plain  yelled  at  us. 

He  crouched  near  a  bush  forty  yards  away,  and 
was  switching  his  tail.  I  had  heard  that  this  was 
a  sure  premonition  of  an  instant  charge,  but  I  had 
not  before  realized  exactly  what  "switching  the 
tail"  meant.  I  had  thought  of  it  as  a  slow  sweeping 
from  side  to  side,  after  the  manner  of  the  domestic 
cat.  This  lion's  tail  was  whirling  perpendicularly 

186 


A  DAY  ON  THE  ISIOLA 

from  right  to  left,  and  from  left  to  right  with  the 
speed  and  energy  of  a  flail  actuated  by  a  particularly 
instantaneous  kind  of  machinery.  I  could  see  only 
the  outline  of  the  head  and  this  vigorous  tail;  but 
I  took  instant  aim  and  let  drive.  The  whole  affair 
sank  out  of  sight. 

We  made  a  detour  around  the  dead  lion  without 
stopping  to  examine  him,  shouting  to  one  of  the 
men  to  stay  and  watch  the  carcass.  Billy  alone 
seemed  uninfected  with  the  now  prevalent  idea  that 
we  were  likely  to  find  lions  almost  anywhere.  Her 
skepticism  was  justified.  We  found  no  more  lions; 
but  another  miracle  took  place  for  all  that.  We 
ran  across  the  second  imbecile  gerenuk,  and  B.  col- 
lected it!  These  two  were  the  only  ones  we  ever 
got  within  decent  shot  of,  and  they  sandwiched 
themselves  neatly  with  lions.  Truly,  it  was  our 
day. 

After  a  time  we  gave  it  up,  and  went  back  to 
measure  and  photograph  our  latest  prize.  It  proved 
to  be  a  male,  maneless,  two  inches  shorter  than  that 
killed  by  B.,  and  three  feet  five  and  one  half  inches 
tall  at  the  shoulder.  My  bullet  had  reached  the 
brain  just  over  the  left  eye. 

Now,  toward  sunset,  we  headed  definitely  to- 
ward camp.  The  long  shadows  and  beautiful 
lights  of  evening  were  falling  across  the  hills  far  the 

187 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

other  side  the  Isiola.  A  little  breeze  with  a  touch  of 
coolness  breathed  down  from  distant  unseen  Kenia. 
We  plodded  on  through  the  grass  quite  happily, 
noting  the  different  animals  coming  out  to  the  cool 
of  the  evening.  The  line  of  brush  that  marked  the 
course  of  the  Isiola  came  imperceptibly  nearer  until 
we  could  make  out  the  white  gleam  of  the  porters' 
tents  and  wisps  of  smoke  curling  upward. 

Then  a  small  black  mass  disengaged  itself  from  the 
camp  and  came  slowly  across  the  prairie  in  our  direc- 
tion. As  it  approached  we  made  it  out  to  be  our 
Monumwezis,  twenty  strong.  The  news  of  the  lions 
had  reached  them,  and  they  were  coming  to  meet  us. 

They  were  huddled  in  a  close  knot,  their  heads 
inclined  toward  the  centre.  Each  man  carried  up- 
right a  peeled  white  wand.  They  moved  in  abso- 
lute unison  and  rhythm,  on  a  slanting  zigzag  in  our 
direction:  first  three  steps  to  the  right,  then  three  to 
the  left,  with  a  strong  stamp  of  the  foot  between. 
Their  bodies  swayed  together.  Sulimani  led  them, 
dancing  backward,  his  wand  upheld. 

"Sheeka!"  he  enunciated  in  a  piercing  half  whis- 
per. 

And  the  swaying  men  responded  in  chorus,  half 
hushed,  rumbling,  with  strong  aspiration. 

"Goom  wop!  goom  zoop/" 

When  fifty  yards  from  us,  however,  the  forma- 
188 


V 


\ 


*'/ 


\      » 


<u 

6 


bO 

- 

'S 


<L> 

3 


a 

o 
d 

! 
1 


Fundi. 


A  DAY  ON  THE  ISIOLA 

tion  broke  and  they  rushed  us  with  a  yell.  Our 
horses  plunged  in  astonishment,  and  we  had  hard 
work  to  prevent  their  bolting,  small  blame  to  'em! 
The  men  surrounded  us,  shaking  our  hands  fran- 
tically. At  once  they  appropriated  everything  we 
or  our  gunbearers  carried.  One  who  got  left  other- 
wise, insisted  on  having  Billy's  parasol.  Then  we 
all  broke  for  camp  at  full  speed,  yelling  like  fiends, 
firing  our  revolvers  in  the  air.  It  was  a  grand  entry, 
and  a  grand  reception.  The  rest  of  the  camp  poured 
out  with  wild  shouts.  The  dark  forms  thronged 
about  us,  teeth  flashing,  arms  waving.  And  in  the 
background,  under  the  shadows  of  the  trees  were 
the  Monumwezis,  their  formation  regained,  close 
gathered,  heads  bent,  two  steps  swaying  to  the  right 

—  stamp!  —  two  steps  swaying  to  the  left  —  stamp! 

—  the  white  wands  gleaming,   and  the  rumble  of 
their  lion  song  rolling  in  an  undertone: 

"Goom  zoop!  goom  zoop!" 


189 


XV 
THE  LION  DANCE 

WE  TOOK  our  hot  baths  and  sat  down  to  supper 
most  gratefully,  for  we  were  tired.  The  long 
string  of  men,  bearing  each  a  log  of  wood,  filed  in 
from  the  darkness  to  add  to  our  pile  of  fuel.  Saa- 
sita  and  Shamba  knelt  and  built  the  night  fire. 
In  a  moment  the  little  flame  licked  up  through  the 
carefully  arranged  structure.  We  finished  the  meal, 
and  the  boys  whisked  away  the  table. 

Then  out  in  the  blackness  beyond  our  little  globe 
of  light  we  became  aware  of  a  dull  confusion,  a  rust- 
ling to  and  fro.  Through  the  shadows  the  eye  could 
guess  at  movement.  The  confusion  steadied  to  a 
kind  of  rhythm,  and  into  the  circle  of  the  fire  came 
the  group  of  Monumwezis.  Again  they  were  gath- 
ered together  in  a  compact  little  mass;  but  now 
they  were  bent  nearly  double,  and  were  stripped  to 
the  red  blankets  about  their  waists.  Before  them 
writhed  Sulimani,  close  to  earth,  darting  irregularly 
now  to  right,  now  to  left,  wriggling,  spreading  his 
arms  abroad.  He  was  repeating  over  and  over  again 

190 


THE  LION  DANCE 

two  phrases;  or  rather  the  same  phrase  in  two  such 
different  intonations  that  they  seemed  to  convey 
quite  separate  meanings. 

"Ka  soompeele?"  he  cried  with  a  strongly  appeal- 
ing interrogation. 

"  Ka  soompeele f"  he  repeated  with  the  downward 
inflection  of  decided  affirmation. 

And  the  bent  men,  their  dark  bodies  gleaming  in 
the  firelight,  stamping  in  rhythm  every  third  step, 
chorused  in  a  deep  rumbling  bass: 

"Goom  zoop!  goom  zoop!" 

Thus  they  advanced;  circled  between  us  and  the 
fire,  and  withdrew  to  the  half  darkness,  where  tire- 
lessly they  continued  the  same  reiterations. 

Hardly  had  they  withdrawn  when  another  group 
danced  forward  in  their  places.  These  were  the 
Kikuyus.  They  had  discarded  completely  their 
safari  clothes,  and  now  came  forth  dressed  out  in 
skins,  in  strips  of  white  cloth,  with  feathers,  shells 
and  various  ornaments.  They  carried  white  wands 
to  represent  spears,  and  they  sang  their  tribal  lion  song. 
A  soloist  delivered  the  main  argument  in  a  high  wav- 
ering minor  and  was  followed  by  a  deep  rumbling 
emphatic  chorus  of  repetition,  strongly  accented  so 
that  the  sheer  rhythm  of  it  was  most  pronounced: 


"An-gee  a     Ka  ga 
An-gee  a     Ka  ga 

191 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

An-gee  a  Ka  ga 
Ki  ya  Ka  ga 
Ka  ga  an  gee  ya!" 

Solemnly  and  loftily,  their  eyes  fixed  straight  be- 
fore them  they  made  the  circle  of  the  fire,  passed 
before  our  chairs,  and  withdrew  to  the  half 
light.  There,  a  few  paces  from  the  stamping, 
crouching  Monumwezis,  they  continued  their 
performance. 

The  next  to  appear  were  the  Wakambas.  These 
were  more  histrionic.  They  too  were  unrecogniz- 
able as  our  porters,  for  they  too  had  for  the  occas- 
ion discarded  their  work-a-day  garments  in  favour  of 
savagery.  They  produced  a  pantomime  of  the.  day's 
doings,  very  realistic  indeed,  ending  with  a  half 
dozen  of  dark  swaying  bodies  swinging  and  shudder- 
ing in  the  long  grass  as  lions,  while  the  "  horses"  wove 
in  and  out  among  the  crouching  forms,  all  done  to 
the  beat  of  rhythm.  Past  us  swept  the  hunt,  and  in 
its  turn  melted  into  the  half  light. 

The  Kavirondos  next  appeared,  the  most  fan- 
tastically caparisoned  of  the  lot,  fine  big  black  men, 
their  eyes  rolling  with  excitement.  They  had  cap- 
tured our  flag  from  its  place  before  the  big  tent,  and 
were  rallied  close  about  this,  dancing  fantastically. 
Before  us  they  leaped  and  stamped  and  shook  their 
spears  and  shouted  out  their  full-voiced  song,  while 

192 


THE  LION  DANCE 

the  other  three  tribes  danced  each  its  specialty  dimly 
in  the  background. 

The  dance  thus  begun  lasted  for  fully  two  hours. 
Each  tribe  took  a  turn  before  us,  only  to  give  way  to 
the  next.  We  had  leisure  to  notice  minutiae,  such 
as  the  ingenious  tail  one  of  the  "lions"  had  con- 
structed from  a  sweater.  As  time  went  on,  the 
men  worked  themselves  to  a  frenzy.  From  the 
serried  ranks  every  once  in  a  while  one  would  break 
forth  with  a  shriek  to  rush  headlong  into  the  fire,  to 
beat  the  earth  about  him  with  his  club,  to  rush  over 
to  shake  one  of  us  violently  by  the  hand,  or  even  to 
seize  one  of  our  feet  between  his  two  palms.  Then 
with  equal  abruptness  back  he  darted  to  regain  his 
place  among  the  dancers.  Wilder  and  wilder  be- 
came the  movements,  higher  rose  the  voices.  The 
mock  lion  hunt  grew  more  realistic,  and  the  slaugh- 
ter on  both  sides,  something  tremendous.  Lower 
and  lower  crouched  the  Monumwezi,  drawing  apart 
with  their  deep  "goom";  drawing  suddenly  to  a 
common  centre  with  the  sharp  "zoop!"  Only  the 
Kikuyus  held  their  lofty  bearing  as  they  rolled  forth 
their  chant,  but  the  mounting  excitement  showed  in 
their  tense  muscles  and  the  rolling  of  their  eyes. 
The  sweat  glistened  on  naked  black  and  bronze 
bodies.  Among  the  Monumwezi  to  my  astonish- 
ment I  saw  Memba  Sasa,  stripped  like  the  rest,  and 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

dancing  with  all  abandon.  The  firelight  leaped 
high  among  the  logs  that  eager  hands  cast  on  it;  and 
the  shadows  it  threw  from  the  swirling,  leaping  fig- 
ures wavered  out  into  a  great,  calm  darkness. 

The  night  guard  understood  a  little  of  the  native 
languages,  so  he  stood  behind  our  chairs  and  told 
us  in  Swahili  the  meaning  of  some  of  the  repeated 
phrases. 

"This  has  been  a  glorious  day:  few  safaris  have 
had  so  glorious  a  day." 

"The  masters  looked  upon  the  fierce  lions  and  did 
not  run  away." 

"Brave  men  without  other  weapons  will  never- 
theless kill  with  a  knife." 

"The  masters'  mothers  must  be  brave  women,  the 
masters  are  so  brave." 

"The  white  woman  went  hunting,  and  so  were 
many  lions  killed." 

The  last  one  pleased  Billy.  She  felt  that  at  last 
she  was  appreciated. 

We  sat  there  spellbound  by  the  weird  savagery  of 
the  spectacle  —  the  great  licking  fire,  the  dancing, 
barbaric  figures,  the  rise  and  fall  of  the  rhythm,  the 
dust  and  shuffle,  the  ebb  and  flow  of  the  dance,  the 
dim,  half-guessed  groups  swaying  in  the  darkness  — • 
and  overhead  the  calm  tropic  night. 

At  last,  fairly  exhausted,  they  stopped.     Some  one 

194 


THE  LION  DANCE 

gave  a  signal.  The  men  all  gathered  in  one  group, 
uttered  a  final  yell,  very  like  a  cheer,  and  dispersed. 
We  called  up  the  heroes  of  the  day  —  Fundi  and 
his  companion  —  and  made  a  little  speech,  and  be- 
stowed appropriate  reward.  Then  we  turned  in. 


195 


FUNDI 

FUNDI,  as  I  have  suggested,  was  built  very 
much  on  the  lines  of  the  marabout  stork.  He 
was  about  twenty  years  old,  carried  himself  very 
erect,  and  looked  one  straight  in  the  eye.  His  total 
assets  when  he  came  to  us  were  a  pair  of  raggedy 
white  breeches,  very  baggy,  and  an  old  mesh  under- 
shirt, ditto  ditto.  To  this  we  added  a  jersey,  a  red 
blanket,  and  a  water  bottle.  At  the  first  oppor- 
tunity he  constructed  himself  a  pair  of  rawhide 
sandals. 

Throughout  the  first  part  of  the  trip  he  had  ap- 
plied himself  to  business  and  carried  his  load.  He 
never  made  trouble.  Then  he  and  his  companion 
saw  five  lions;  and  the  chance  Fundi  had  evidently 
long  been  awaiting  came  to  his  hand.  He  ran  him- 
self'almost  into  coma,  exhibited  himself  game,  and 
so  fell  under  our  especial  and  distinguished  notice. 
After  participating  whole-heartedly  in  the  lion  dance 
he  and  his  companion  were  singled  out  for  Our 
Distinguished  Favour,  to  the  extent  of  five  rupees 


FUNDI 

per.     This  far  Fundi's  history    reads  just  like  the 
history  of  any  ordinary  Captain  of  Industry. 

Next  morning,  after  the  interesting  ceremony  of 
rewarding  the  worthy,  we  moved  on  to  a  new  camp 
When  the  line-up  was  called  for,  lo!  there  stood 
Fundi,  without  a  load,  but  holding  firmly  my  double- 
barrelled  rifle.  Evidently  he  had  seized  the 
chance  of  favour  —  and  the  rifle  —  and  intended  to 
be  no  longer  a  porter  but  a  second  gun-bearer. 
This  looked  interesting,  so  we  said  nothing. 
Fundi  marched  the  day  through  very  proudly. 
At  evening  he  deposited  the  rifle  in  the  proper 
place,  and  set  to  work  with  a  will  at  raising  the 
big  tent. 

The  day  following  he  tried  it  again.  It  worked. 
The  third  day  he  marched  deliberately  up  past  the 
syce  to  take  his  place  near  me.  And  the  fourth  day, 
as  we  were  going  hunting,  Fundi  calmly  fell  in  with 
the  rest.  Nothing  had  been  said,  but  Fundi  had 
definitely  grasped  his  chance  to  rise  from  the  ranks. 
In  this  he  differed  from  his  companion  in  glory. 
That  worthy  citizen  pocketed  his  five  rupees  and 
was  never  heard  from  again;  I  do  not  even  remember 
his  name  nor  how  he  looked. 

I  killed  a  buck  of  some  sort,  and  Memba  Sasa, 
as  usual,  stepped  forward  to  attend  to  the  trophy. 
But  I  stopped  him. 

197 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

"Fundi,"  said  I,  "if  you  are  a  gunbearer,  prepare 
this  beast." 

He  stepped  up  confidently  and  set  to  work.  I 
watched  him  closely.  He  did  it  very  well,  without 
awkwardness,  though  he  made  one  or  two  minor 
mistakes  in  method. 

"Have  you  done  this  before?"  I  inquired. 

"No,  bwana." 

"How  did  you  learn  to  do  it?" 

"I  have  watched  the  gunbearers  when  I  was  a 
porter  bringing  in  meat.* 

This  was  pleasing,  but  it  would  never  do,  at  this 
stage  of  the  game,  to  let  him  think  so,  neither  on  his 
own  account  nor  that  of  the  real  gunbearers. 

"You  will  bring  in  meat  to-day  also,"  said  I,  for 
I  was  indeed  a  little  shorthanded,  "and  you  will 
learn  how  to  make  the  top  incision  straighter." 

When  we  had  reached  camp  I  handed  him  the 
Springfield. 

"Clean  this,"  I  told  him. 

He  departed  with  it,  returning  it  after  a  time  for 
my  inspection.  It  looked  all  right.  I  catechized 
him  on  the  method  he  had  employed — for  high 
velocities  require  very  especial  treatment  —  and 
found  him  letter  perfect. 

*Except  in  the  greatest  emergencies  a  real  gunbearer  would  never  think  of 
carrying  any  sort  of  a  burden. 

198 


FUNDI 

"You  learned  this  also  by  watching?" 

"Yes,  bwana,  I  watched  the  gunbearers  by  the 
fire,  evenings." 

Evidently  Fundi  had  been  preparing  for  his 
chance. 

Next  day,  as  he  walked  alongside,  I  noticed  that 
he  had  not  removed  the  leather  cap,  or  sight  pro- 
tector, that  covers  the  end  of  the  rifle  and  is  fast- 
ened on  by  a  leather  thong.  Immediately  I  called 
a  halt. 

"Fundi,"  said  I,  "do  you  know  that  the  cover 
should  be  in  your  pocket?  Suppose  a  rhinoceros 
jumps  up  very  near  at  hand:  how  can  you  get  time 
to  unlace  the  thong  and  hand  me  the  rifle?" 

He  thrust  the  rifle  at  me  suddenly.  In  some 
magical  fashion  the  sight  cover  had  disappeared! 

"I  have  thought  of  this,"  said  he,  "and  I  have  tied 
the  thong,  so,  in  order  that  it  come  away  with  one 
pull,  and  I  snatch  it  off,  so,  with  my  left  hand  while 
I  am  giving  you  the  gun  with  my  right  hand.  It 
seemed  good  to  keep  the  cover  on,  for  there  are 
many  branches,  and  the  sight  is  very  easy  to  injure." 

Of  course  this  was  good  sense,  and  most  ingenious; 
Fundi  bade  fair  to  be  quite  a  boy,  but  the  native 
African  is  very  easily  spoiled.  Therefore,  although 
my  inclination  was  strongly  to  praise  him,  I  did 
nothing  of  the  sort. 

199 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

"A  gunbearer  carries  the  gun  away  from  the 
branches,"  was  my  only  comment. 

Shortly  after  occurred  an  incident  by  way  of 
deeper  test.  We  were  all  riding  rather  idly  along 
the  easy  slope  below  the  foothills.  The  grass  was 
short,  so  we  thought  we  could  see  easily  everything 
there  was  to  be  seen;  but,  as  we  passed  some  thirty 
yards  from  a  small  tree,  an  unexpected  and  unneces- 
sary rhinoceros  rose  from  an  equally  unexpected 
and  unnecessary  green  hollow  beneath  the  tree,  and 
charged  us.  He  made  straight  for  Billy.  Her 
mule,  panicstricken,  froze  with  terror  in  spite  of 
Billy's  attack  with  a  parasol.  I  spurred  my  own 
animal  between  her  and  the  charging  brute,  with 
some  vague  idea  of  slipping  off  the  other  side  as  the 
rhino  struck.  F.  and  B.  leaped  from  their  own  ani- 
mals, and  F.,  with  a  little  .28  calibre  rifle,  took 
a  hasty  shot  at  the  big  brute.  Now,  of  course 
a  .28  calibre  rifle  would  hardly  injure  a  rhino, 
but  the  bullet  happened  to  catch  his  right  shoulder 
just  as  he  was  about  to  come  down  on  his 
right  foot.  The  shock  tripped  him  up  as  neat- 
ly as  though  he  had  been  upset  by  a  rope.  At 
the  same  instant  Billy's  mule  came  to  its  senses 
and  bolted,  whereupon  I  too  jumped  off.  The 
whole  thing  took  about  two  finger  snaps  of 
time.  At  the  instant  I  hit  the  ground,  Fundi 

200 


FUNDI 

passed  the  double  rifle  across  the  horse's  back 
to  me. 

Note  two  things  to  the  credit  of  Fundi:  in  the  first 
place,  he  had  not  bolted;  in  the  second  place,  in- 
stead of  running  up  to  the  left  side  of  my  mount  and 
perhaps  colliding  with  and  certainly  confusing  me,  he 
had  come  up  on  the  right  side  and  passed  the  rifle 
to  me  across  the  horse.  I  do  not  know  whether  or 
not  he  had  figured  this  out  beforehand,  but  it  was 
cleverly  done. 

The  rhinoceros  rolled  over  and  over,  like  a  shot 
rabbit,  kicked  for  a  moment,  and  came  to  his  feet. 
We  were  now  all  ready  for  him,  in  battle  array,  but 
he  had  evidently  had  enough.  He  turned  at  right 
angles  and  trotted  off,  apparently  —  and  probably 
—  none  the  worse  for  the  little  bullet  in  his  shoulder. 

Fundi  now  began  acquiring  things  that  he  sup- 
posed befitting  to  his  dignity.  The  first  of  these 
matters  was  a  faded  fez,  in  which  he  stuck  a  long 
feather.  From  that  he  progressed  in  worldly  wealth. 
How  he  got  it  all,  on  what  credit,  or  with  what 
hypnotic  power,  I  do  not  know.  Probably  he  hypoth- 
ecated his  wages,  certainly  he  had  his  five  rupees. 
At  any  rate  he  started  out  with  a  ragged  undershirt 
and  a  pair  of  white,  baggy  breeches.  He  entered 
Nairobi  at  the  end  of  the  trip  with  a  cap,  a  neat 
khaki  shirt,  two  water  bottles,  a  cartridge  belt,  a 

201 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

sash  with  a  tassel,  a  pair  of  spiral  puttees,  an  old 
pair  of  shoes,  and  a  personal  private  small  boy, 
picked  up  en  route  from  some  of  the  savage  tribes, 
to  carry  his  cooking  pot,  make  his  fires,  draw  his 
water,  and  generally  perform  his  lordly  behests. 
This  was  indeed  "more-than-oriental-splendour!" 

From  now  on  Fundi  considered  himself  my  sec- 
ond gunbearer.  I  had  no  use  for  him,  but  Fundi's 
development  interested  me,  and  I  wanted  to  give 
him  a  chance.  His  main  fault  at  first  was  eagerness. 
He  had  to  be  rapped  pretty  sharply  and  a  good 
number  of  times  before  he  discovered  that  he  really 
must  walk  in  the  rear.  His  habit  of  calling  my  at- 
tention to  perfectly  obvious  things  I  cured  by  liberal 
sarcasm.  His  intense  desire  to  take  his  own  line  as 
perhaps  opposed  to  mine  when  we  were  casting  about 
on  trail,  I  abated  kindly  but  firmly  with  the  toe  of 
my  boot.  His  evident  but  mistaken  tendency  to 
consider  himself  on  an  equality  with  Memba  Sasa 
we  both  squelched  by  giving  him  the  hard  and  dirty 
work  to  do.  But  his  faults  were  never  those  of 
voluntary  omission,  and  he  came  on  surprisingly; 
in  fact  so  surprisingly  that  he  began  to  get  quite 
cocky  over  it.  Not  that  he  was  ever  in  the  least 
aggressive  or  disrespectful  or  neglectful  —  it  would 
have  been  easy  to  deal  with  that  sort  of  thing  - 
but  he  carried  his  head  pretty  high,  and  evidently 

202 


FUNDI 

began  to  have  mental  reservations.  Fundi  needed 
a  little  wholesome  discipline.  He  was  forgetting 
his  porter  days,  and  was  rapidly  coming  to  consider 
himself  a  full-fledged  gunbearer. 

The  occasion  soon  arose.  We  were  returning 
from  a  buffalo  hunt  and  ran  across  two  rhinoceroses, 
one  of  which  carried  a  splendid  horn.  B.  wanted  a 
well  developed  specimen  very  much,  so  we  took  this 
chance.  The  approach  was  easy  enough,  and  at 
seventy  yards  or  so  B.  knocked  her  flat  with  a  bullet 
from  his  .465  Holland.  The  beast  was  immediately 
afoot,  but  was  as  promptly  smothered  by  shots  from 
us  all.  So  far  the  affair  was  very  simple,  but  now 
came  complication.  The  second  rhinoceros  re- 
fused to  leave.  We  did  not  want  to  kill  it,  so  we 
spent  a  lot  of  time  and  pains  shooing  it  away. 
We  showered  rocks  and  clods  of  earth  in  his  direc- 
tion; we  yelled  sharply  and  whistled  shrilly.  The 
brute  faced  here  and  there,  his  pig  eyes  blinking,  his 
snout  upraised,  trying  to  locate  us,  and  declining 
to  budge.  At  length  he  gave  us  up  as  hopeless,  and 
trotted  away  slowly.  We  let  him  go,  and  when  we 
thought  he  had  quite  departed,  we  approached  to 
examine  B.'s  trophy. 

Whereupon  the  other  craftily  returned;  and 
charged  us,  snorting  like  an  engine  blowing  off  steam. 
This  was  a  genuine  premeditated  charge,  as  op- 

203 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

posed  to  a  blind  rush,  and  it  is  offered  as  a  good 
example  of  the  sort. 

The  rhinoceros  had  come  fairly  close  before  we 
got  into  action.  He  headed  straight  for  F.  and  my- 
self, with  B.  a  little  to  one  side.  Things  happened 
very  quickly.  F.  and  I  each  planted  a  heavy  bullet 
in  his  head;  while  B.  sent  a  lighter  Winchester  bullet 
into  the  ribs.  The  rhino  went  down  in  a  heap  eleven 
yards  away,  and  one  of  us  promptly  shot  him  in  the 
spine  to  finish  him. 

Personally  I  was  entirely  concentrated  in  the 
matter  at  hand  —  as  is  always  the  way  in  crises  re- 
quiring action  —  and  got  very  few  impressions  from 
anything  outside.  Nevertheless  I  imagined,  sub- 
consciously that  I  had  heard  four  shots.  F.  and  B. 
disclaimed  more  than  one  apiece,  so  I  concluded  my- 
self mistaken,  exchanged  my  heavy  rifle  with  Fundi 
for  the  lighter  Winchester,  and  we  started  for  camp, 
leaving  all  the  boys  to  attend  to  the  dead  rhinos. 
At  camp  I  threw  down  the  lever  of  my  Winchester  — 
and  drew  out  an  exploded  shell ! 

Here  was  a  double  crime  on  Fundi's  part.  In  the 
first  place,  he  had  fired  the  gun,  a  thing  no  gun- 
bearer  is  supposed  ever  to  do  in  any  circumstances 
short  of  the  disarmament  and  actual  mauling  of  his 
master.  Naturally  this  is  so,  for  the  white  man 
must  be  able  in  an  emergency  to  depend  absolutely 

204 


FUNDI 

on  his  second  gun  being  loaded  and  ready  for  his 
need.  In  the  second  place,  Fundi  had  given  me  an 
empty  rifle  to  carry  home.  Such  a  weapon  is  worse 
than  none  in  case  of  trouble:  at  least  I  could  have 
gone  up  a  tree  in  the  latter  case.  I  would  have 
looked  sweet  snapping  that  old  cartridge  at  any- 
thing dangerous! 

Therefore  after  supper  we  stationed  ourselves  in 
a  row  before  the  fire,  seated  in  our  canvas  chairs, 
and  with  due  formality  sent  word  that  we  wanted 
all  the  gunbearers.  They  came  and  stood  before 
us.  Memba  Sasa  erect,  military,  compact,  looking 
us  straight  in  the  eye;  Mavrouki  slightly  bent  for- 
ward, his  face  alive  with  the  little  crafty,  calculating 
smile  peculiar  to  him;  Simba,  tall  and  suave,  stand- 
ing with  much  social  ease;  and  Fundi,  a  trifle  fright- 
ened, but  uncertain  as  to  whether  or  not  he  had  been 
found  out. 

We  stated  the  matter  in  a  few  words. 

"Gunbearers,  this  man  Fundi,  when  the  rhinoc- 
eros charged,  fired  Winchi.  Was  this  the  work  of  a 
gunbearer?" 

The  three  seasoned  men  looked  at  each  other  with 
shocked  astonishment  that  such  depravity  could  exist. 

"And  being  frightened,  he  gave  back  Winchi  with 
the  exploded  cartridge  in  her.  Was  that  the  work 
of  a  gunbearer?" 

205 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

"No,  bwana,"  said  Fund!  humbly. 

"You,  the  gunbearers,  have  been  called  because 
we  wish  to  know  what  should  be  done  with  this 
man  Fundi." 

It  should  be  here  explained  that  it  is  not  custo- 
mary to  kiboko,  or  flog,  men  of  the  gunbearer  class. 
They  respect  themselves  and  their  calling,  and  would 
never  stand  that  sort  of  punishment.  When  one 
blunders,  a  sarcastic  scolding  is  generally  sufficient; 
a  more  serious  fault  may  be  punished  on  the  spot  by 
the  white  man's  fist;  or  a  really  bad  dereliction  may 
cause  the  man's  instant  degradation  from  the  post. 
With  this  in  mind  we  had  called  the  council  of  gun- 
bearers.  Memba  Sasa  spoke. 

"Bwana,"  said  he,  "this  man  is  not  a  true  gun- 
bearer.  He  is  no  longer  a  true  porter.  He  carries 
a  gun  in  the  field,  like  a  gunbearer;  and  he  knows 
much  of  the  duty  of  gunbearer.  Also  he  does  not  run 
away  nor  climb  trees.  But  he  carries  in  the  meat; 
and  he  is  not  a  real  gunbearer.  He  is  half  porter 
and  half  gunbearer." 

"What  punishment  shall  he  have?" 

"  Kiboko,"  said  they. 

"Thank  you.     Bass!" 

They  went,  leaving  Fundi.  We  surveyed  him 
quietly. 

"You  a  gunbearer!"  said  we  at  last.  "Memba 

206 


FUNDI 

Sasa  says  you  are  half  gunbearer.  He  was  wrong. 
You  are  all  porter;  and  you  know  no  more  than  they 
do.  It  is  in  our  mind  to  put  you  back  to  carrying  a 
load.  If  you  do  not  wish  to  taste  the  kiboko,  you 
can  take  a  load  to-morrow." 

"The  kiboko,  bwana,"  pleaded  Fundi,  very 
abashed  and  humble. 

"Furthermore,"  we  added  crushingly,  "you  did 
not  even  hit  the  rhinoceros!" 

So  with  all  ceremony  he  got  the  kiboko.  The 
incident  did  him  a  lot  of  good,  and  toned  down  his 
exuberance  somewhat.  Nevertheless  he  still  re- 
quired a  good  deal  of  training,  just  as  does  a  promis- 
ing bird  dog  in  its  first  season.  Generally  his  faults 
were  of  over-eagerness.  Indeed,  once  he  got  me 
thoroughly  angry  in  face  of  another  rhinoceros  by 
dancing  just  out  of  reach  with  the  heavy  rifle,  in- 
stead of  sticking  close  to  me  where  I  could  get  at 
him.  I  temporarily  forgot  the  rhino,  and  ad- 
vanced on  Fundi  with  the  full  intention  of 
knocking  his  fool  head  off.  Whereupon  this  six 
feet  something  of  most  superb  and  insolent 
pride  wilted  down  to  a  small  boy  with  his  elbow 
before  his  face. 

"Don't  hit,  bwana!     Don't  hit!"  he  begged. 

The  whole  thing  was  so  comical,  especially  with 
Memba  Sasa  standing  by  virtuous  and  scornful, 

207 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

that  I  had  hard  work  to  keep  from  laughing.  For- 
tunately the  rhinoceros  behaved  himself. 

The  proud  moment  of  Fundi's  life  was  when  the 
safari  entered  Nairobi  at  the  end  of  the  first  expe- 
dition. He  had  gone  forth  with  a  load  on  his  head, 
rags  on  his  back,  and  his  only  glory  was  the  self- 
assumed  one  of  the  name  he  had  taken  —  Fundi, 
the  Expert.  He  returned  carrying  a  rifle,  rigged 
from  top  to  toe  in  new  garments  and  fancy  accoutre- 
ments, followed  by  a  toto,  or  small  boy,  he  had 
bought  from  some  of  the  savage  tribes  to  carry  his 
blanket  and  cooking  pot  for  him.  To  the  friends 
who  darted  out  to  the  line  of  march,  he  was  gracious, 
but  he  held  his  head  high,  and  had  no  time  for  mere 
persiflage. 

I  did  not  take  Fundi  on  my  second  expedition,  for 
I  had  no  real  use  for  a  second  gunbearer.  Several 
times  subsequently  I  saw  him  on  the  streets  of 
Nairobi.  Always  he  came  up  to  greet  me,  and  ask 
solicitously  if  I  would  not  give  him  a  job.  This  I 
was  unable  to  do.  When  we  paid  off,  I  had  made 
an  addition  to  his  porter's  wages,  and  had  written 
him  a  chit.  This  said  that  the  boy  had  the  makings 
of  a  gunbearer  with  further  training.  It  would 
have  been  unfair  to  possible  white  employers  to  have 
said  more.  Fundi  was,  when  I  left  the  country, 
precisely  in  the  position  of  any  young  man  who  tries 

208 


FUNDI 

to  rise  in  the  world.  He  would  not  again  take  a  load 
as  porter,  and  he  was  not  yet  skilled  enough  or  known 
enough  to  pick  up  more  than  stray  jobs  as  gunbearer. 
Before  him  was  struggle  and  hard  times,  with  a  cer- 
tainty of  a  highly  considered  profession  if  he  won 
through.  Behind  him  was  steady  work  without  out- 
lets for  ambition.  It  was  distinctly  up  to  him  to 
prove  whether  he  had  done  well  to  reach  for  am- 
bition, or  whether  he  would  have  done  better  in 
contentment  with  his  old  lot.  And  that  is  in  es- 
sence a  good  deal  like  our  own  world  isn't  it? 


209 


XVII 
NATIVES 

UP  TO  this  time,  save  for  a  few  Masai  at  the 
very  beginning  of  our  trip,  we  had  seen  no 
natives  at  all.  Only  lately,  the  night  of  the  lion 
dance,  one  of  the  Wanderobo  —  the  forest  hunters 
—  had  drifted  in  to  tell  us  of  buffalo  and  to  get  some 
meat.  He  was  a  simple  soul,  small  and  capable,  of 
a  beautiful  red-brown,  with  his  hair  done  up  in  a 
tight,  short  queue.  He  wore  three  skewers  about 
six  inches  long  thrust  through  each  of  his  ears,  three 
strings  of  blue  beads  on  his  neck,  a  bracelet  tight 
around  his  upper  arm,  a  bangle  around  his  ankle,  a 
pair  of  rawhide  sandals,  and  about  a  half  yard  of 
cotton  cloth  which  he  hung  from  one  shoulder.  As 
weapons  he  carried  a  round-headed,  heavy  club,  or 
runga,  and  a  long-bladed  spear.  He  led  us  to  buf- 
falo, accepted  a  thirty-three  cent  blanket,  and  made 
fire  with  two  sticks  in  about  thirty  seconds.  The 
only  other  evidences  of  human  life  we  had  come 
across  were  a  few  beehives  suspended  in  the  trees. 
These  were  logs,  bored  hollow  and  stopped  at  either 

210 


NATIVES 

end.  Some  of  them  were  very  quaintly  carved. 
They  hung  in  the  trees  like  strange  fruits. 

Now,  however,  after  leaving  the  Isiola,  we  were 
to  quit  the  game  country  and  for  days  travel  among 
the  swarming  millions  of  the  jungle. 

A  few  preliminary,  and  entirely  random  obser- 
vations may  be  permitted  me  by  way  of  clearing  the 
ground  for  a  conception  of  these  people.  These  ob- 
servations do  not  pretend  to  be  ethnological,  nor 
even  common  logical. 

The  first  thing  for  an  American  to  realize  is  that 
our  own  negro  population  came  mainly  from  the 
West  Coast,  and  differed  utterly  from  these  peoples 
of  the  highlands  in  the  East.  Therefore  one  must 
first  of  all  get  rid  of  the  mental  image  of  our  own 
negro  "dressed  up"  in  savage  garb.  Many  of  these 
tribes  are  not  negro  at  all  —  the  Somalis,  the  Nandi, 
and  the  Masai,  for  example  —  while  others  belong 
to  the  negroid  and  Nilotic  races.  Their  colour  is  in 
general  cast  more  on  the  red-bronze  than  the  black, 
though  the  Kavirondos  and  some  others  are  black 
enough.  The  texture  of  their  skin  is  very  satiny 
and  wonderful.  This  perfection  is  probably  due  to 
the  constant  anointing  of  the  body  with  oils  of  va- 
rious sorts.  As  a  usual  thing  they  are  a  fine  lot 
physically.  The  southern  Masai  will  average  be- 
tween six  and  seven  feet  in  height,  and  are  almost 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

invariably  well  built.  Of  most  tribes  the  physical 
development  is  remarkably  strong  and  graceful;  and 
a  great  many  of  the  women  will  display  a  rounded, 
firm,  high-breasted  physique  in  marked  contrast  to 
the  blacks  of  the  lowlands.  Of  the  different  tribes 
possibly  the  Kikuyus  are  apt  to  count  the  most 
weakly  and  spindly  examples :  though  some  of  these 
people,  perhaps  a  majority,  are  well  made. 

Furthermore,  the  native  differentiates  himself 
still  further  in  impression  from  our  negro  in  his  car- 
riage and  the  mental  attitude  that  lies  behind  it. 
Our  people  are  trying  to  pattern  themselves  on  white 
men,  and  succeed  in  giving  a  more  or  less  shambling 
imitation  thereof.  The  native  has  standards,  ideas, 
and  ideals  that  perfectly  satisfy  him,  and  that  an- 
tedated the  white  man's  coming  by  thousands  of 
years.  The  consciousness  of  this  reflects  itself  in 
his  outward  bearing.  He  does  not  shuffle;  he  is  not 
either  obsequious  or  impudent.  Even  when  he  ac- 
knowledges the  white  man's  divinity  and  pays  it 
appropriate  respect,  he  does  not  lose  the  poise  of  his 
own  well-worked-out  attitude  toward  life  and  toward 
himself. 

We  are  fond  of  calling  these  people  primitive. 
In  the  world's  standard  of  measurement  they  are 
primitive,  very  primitive  indeed.  But  ordinarily 
by  that  term,  we  mean  also  undeveloped,  embryonic 

212 


NATIVES 

In  that  sense  we  are  wrong.  Instead  of  being  at  the 
very  dawn  of  human  development,  these  people  are 
at  the  end  —  as  far  as  they  themselves  are  concerned. 
The  original  racial  impulse  that  started  them  down 
the  years  toward  development  has  fulfilled  its  duty 
and  spent  its  force.  They  have  worked  out  all  their 
problems,  established  all  their  customs,  arranged 
the  world  and  its  phenomena  in  a  philosophy  to  their 
complete  satisfaction.  They  have  lived,  ethnolo- 
gists tell  us,  for  thousands,  perhaps  hundreds  of 
thousands  of  years,  just  as  we  find  them  to-day. 
From  our  standpoint  that  is  in  a  hopeless  intellectual 
darkness:  for  they  know  absolutely  nothing  of  the 
most  elementary  subjects  of  knowledge.  From  their 
standpoint,  however,  they  have  reached  the  highest 
desirable  pinnacle  of  human  development.  Noth- 
ing remains  to  be  changed.  Their  customs,  re- 
ligions, and  duties  have  been  worked  out  and  im- 
mutably established  long  ago;  and  nobody  dreams 
of  questioning  either  their  wisdom  or  their  impera- 
tive necessity.  They  are  the  conservatives  of  the 
world. 

Nor  must  we  conclude  —  looking  at  them  with 
the  eyes  of  our  own  civilization  —  that  the  savage 
is,  from  his  standpoint,  lazy  and  idle.  His  life  is 
laid  out  more  rigidly  than  ours  will  be  for  a  great 
many  thousands  of  years.  From  childhood  to  old 

213 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

age  he  performs  his  every  act  in  accord  with  pro- 
hibitions and  requirements.  He  must  remember 
them  all;  for  ignorance  does  not  divert  consequences. 
He  must  observe  them  all;  in  pain  of  terrible  pun- 
ishments. For  example,  never  may  he  cultivate 
on  the  site  of  a  grave;  and  the  plants  that  spring  up 
from  it  must  never  be  cut.*  He  must  make  cer- 
tain complicated  offerings  before  venturing  to  har- 
vest a  crop.  On  crossing  the  first  stream  of  a  jour- 
ney he  must  touch  his  lips  with  the  end  of  his  wetted 
bow,  wade  across,  drop  a  stone  on  the  far  side,  and 
then  drink.  If  he  cuts  his  nails,  he  must  throw  the 
parings  into  a  thicket.  If  he  drink  from  a  stream, 
and  also  cross  it,  he  must  eject  a  mouthful  of  water 
back  into  the  stream.  He  must  be  particularly 
careful  not  to  look  his  mother-in-law  in  the  face. 
Hundreds  of  omens  by  the  manner  of  their  hap- 
pening may  modify  actions,  as,  on  what  side  of  the 
road  a  woodpecker  calls,  or  in  which  direction 
hyena  or  jackal  crosses  the  path,  how  the  ground 
hornbill  flies  or  alights,  and  the  like.  He  must 
notice  these  things,  and  change  his  plans  according 
to  their  occurrence.  If  he  does  not  notice  them,  they 
exercise  their  influence  just  the  same.  This  does  not 
encourage  a  distrait  mental  attitude.  Also  it  goes 

*Of  course  all  customs  are  not  universal  among  the  different  tribes.     I  am 

merely  illustrating. 

214 


NATIVES 

far  to  explain  otherwise  unexplainable  visitations. 
Truly,  as  Hobley  says  in  his  unexcelled  work  on  the 
A-Kamba,  "the  life  of  a  savage  native  is  a  complex 
matter,  and  he  is  hedged  round  by  all  sorts  of  rules 
and  prohibitions,  the  infringment  of  which  will  prob- 
ably cause  his  death,  if  only  by  the  intense  belief 
he  has  in  the  rules  which  guide  his  life." 

For  these  rules  and  customs  he  never  attempts  to 
give  a  reason.  They  are;  and  that  is  all  there  is  to 
it.  A  mere  statement:  "This  is  the  custom"  set- 
tles the  matter  finally.  There  is  no  necessity,  nor 
passing  thought  even,  of  finding  any  logical  cause. 
The  matter  was  worked  out  in  the  mental  evolution 
of  remote  ancestors.  At  that  time,  perhaps,  in- 
surgent and  Standpatter,  Conservative  and  Radical 
fought  out  the  questions  of  the  day,  and  the  Muck- 
rakers  swung  by  their  tails  and  chattered  about  it. 
Those  days  are  all  long  since  over.  The  questions  of 
the  world  are  settled  forever.  The  people  have 
passed  through  the  struggles  of  their  formative  pe- 
riod to  the  ultimate  highest  perfection  of  adjustment 
to  material  and  spiritual  environment  of  which 
they  were  capable  under  the  influence  of  their  origi- 
nal racial  force. 

Parenthetically,  it  is  now  a  question  whether  or 
not  an  added  impulse  can  be  communicated  from 
without.  Such  an  impulse  must  (a)  unsettle  all 

215 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

the  old  beliefs,  (b)  inspire  an  era  of  skepticism,  (c) 
reintroduce  the  old  struggle  of  ideas  between  the 
Insurgent  and  the  Standpatter,  and  Radical  and 
the  Conservative,  (d)  in  the  meantime  furnish,  from 
the  older  civilization,  materials,  both  in  the  thought- 
world  and  in  the  object-world,  for  building  slowly 
a  new  set  of  customs  more  closely  approximating 
those  we  are  building  for  ourselves.  This  is  a  longer 
and  slower  and  more  complicated  affair  than  teach- 
ing the  native  to  wear  clothes  and  sing  hymns;  or 
to  build  houses  and  drink  gin;  but  it  is  what  must 
be  accomplished  step  by  step  before  the  African 
peoples  are  really  civilized.  I,  personally,  do  not 
think  it  can  be  done. 

Now  having,  a  hundred  thousand  years  or  so  ago, 
worked  out  the  highest  good  of  the  human  race,  ac- 
cording to  them,  what  must  they  say  to  themselves 
and  what  must  their  attitude  be  when  the  white 
man  has  come  and  has  unrolled  his  carpet  of  won- 
derful tricks?  The  dilemma  is  evident.  Either 
we,  as  black  men,  must  admit  that  our  hundred- 
thousand-year-old  ideas  as  to  what  constitutes  the 
highest  type  of  human  relation  to  environment  is  all 
wrong,  or  else  we  must  evolve  a  new  attitude  to- 
ward this  new  phenomena.  It  is  human  nature  to 
do  the  latter.  Therefore  the  native  has  not  aban- 
doned his  old  gods;  nor  has  he  adopted  a  new.  He 

216 


NATIVES 

still  believes  firmly  that  his  way  is  the  best  way  of 
doing  things,  but  he  acknowledges  the  Superman. 

To  the  Superman,  with  all  races,  anything  is  pos- 
sible. Only  our  superman  is  an  idea,  and  ideal. 
The  native  has  his  superman  before  him  in  the  actual 
flesh. 

We  will  suppose  that  our  own  superman  has  ap- 
peared among  us,  accomplishing  things  that  ap- 
parantly  contravene  all  our  established  tenets  of 
skill,  of  intellect,  of  possibility.  It  will  be  readily 
acknowledged  that  such  an  individual  would  at 
first  create  some  astonishment.  He  wanders  into 
a  crowded  hotel  lobby,  let  us  say,  evidently  with  the 
desire  of  going  to  the  bar.  Instead  of  pushing  labori- 
ously through  the  crowd,  he  floats  just  above  their 
heads,  gets  his  drink,  and  floats  out  again!  That 
is  levitation,  and  is  probably  just  as  simple  to  him 
as  striking  a  match  is  to  you  and  me.  After  we  get 
thoroughly  accustomed  to  him  and  his  life,  we  are  no 
longer  vastly  astonished,  though  always  interested, 
at  the  various  manifestations  of  his  extraordinary 
powers.  We  go  right  along  using  the  marvellous 
wireless,  aeroplanes,  motor  cars,  constructive  machin- 
ery, and  the  like  that  make  us  confident  —  justly, 
of  course  —  that  we  are  about  the  smartest  lot  of 
people  on  earth.  And  if  we  see  red,  white,  and  blue 
streamers  of  light  crossing  the  zenith  at  noon,  we 

217 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

do  not  manifest  any  very  profound  amazement. 
"There's  that  confounded  Superman  again,"  we 
mutter,  if  we  happen  to  be  busy.  "I  wonder  what 
stunt  he's  going  to  do  now!" 

A  consideration  of  the  above  beautiful  fable  may 
go  a  little  way  toward  explaining  the  supposed  native 
stolidity  in  the  face  of  the  white  man's  wonders.  A 
few  years  ago  some  misguided  person  brought  a  bal- 
loon to  Nairobi.  The  balloon  interested  the  white 
people  a  lot,  but  everybody  was  chiefly  occupied  in 
wondering  what  the  natives  would  do  when  they 
saw  that!  The  natives  did  not  do  anything.  They 
gathered  in  large  numbers,  and  most  interestedly 
watched  it  go  up,  and  then  went  home  again.  But 
they  were  not  stricken  with  wonder  to  any  great  ex- 
tent. So  also  with  locomotives,  motor  cars,  tele- 
phones, phonographs  —  any  of  our  modern  ingenu- 
ities. The  native  is  pleased  and  entertained,  but 
not  astonished.  "  Stupid  creature,  no  imagination," 
say  we,  because  our  pride  in  showing  off  is  a  wee  bit 
hurt. 

Why  should  he  be  astonished.  His  mental  rev- 
olution took  place  when  he  saw  the  first  match 
struck.  It  is  manifestly  impossible  for  any  one  to 
make  fire  instantaneously  by  rubbing  one  small 
stick.  When  for  the  first  time  he  saw  it  done,  he 
was  indeed  vastly  astounded.  The  immutable  had 

218 


NATIVES 

been  changed.  The  law  had  been  transcended. 
The  impossible  had  been  accomplished.  And  then, 
as  logical  sequence,  his  mind  completed  the  syllogism. 
If  the  white  man  can  do  this  impossibility,  why  not 
all  the  rest?  To  defy  the  laws  of  nature  by  flying 
in  the  air  or  forcing  great  masses  of  iron  to  transport 
one,  is  no  more  wonderful  than  to  defy  them  by 
striking  a  light.  Since  the  white  man  can  provedly 
do  one,  what  earthly  reason  exists  why  he  should 
not  do  anything  else  that  hits  his  fancy?  There  is 
nothing  to  get  astonished  at. 

This  does  not  necessarily  mean  that  the  native 
looks  on  the  white  man  as  a  god.  On  the  contrary, 
your  African  is  very  shrewd  in  the  reading  of  char- 
acter. But  indubitably  white  men  possess  great 
magic,  uncertain  in  its  extent. 

That  is  as  far  as  I  should  care  to  go,  without 
much  deeper  acquaintance,  into  the  attitude  of  the 
native  mind  toward  the  whites.  A  superficial  study 
of  it,  beyond  the  general  principals  I  have  enunci- 
ated, discloses  many  strange  contradictions.  The 
native  respects  the  wfiite  man's  warlike  skill,  he 
respects  his  physical  prowess,  he  certainly  acknowl- 
edges tacitly  his  moral  superiority  in  the  right  to 
command.  In  case  of  dispute  he  likes  the  white 
man's  adjudication;  in  case  of  illness  the  man's 
medicine;  in  case  of  trouble  the  white  man's  sus- 

219 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

taining  hand.  Yet  he  almost  never  attempts  to 
copy  the  white  man's  appearance  or  ways  of  doing 
things.  His  own  savage  customs  and  habits  he  ful- 
fils with  as  much  pride  as  ever  in  their  eternal  fit- 
ness. Once  I  was  badgering  Memba  Sasa,  asking 
him  whether  he  thought  the  white  skin  or  the  black 
skin  the  more  ornamental.  "You  are  not  white," 
he  retorted  at  last.  "That,"  pointing  to  a  leaf  of  my 
notebook,  "is  white.  You  are  red.  I  do  not  like 
the  looks  of  red  people." 

They  call  our  speech  the  "snake  language,"  be- 
cause of  its  hissing  sound.  Once  this  is  brought  to 
your  attention,  indeed,  you  cannot  help  noticing  the 
superabundance  of  the  sibilants. 

A  queer  melange  the  pigeonholes  of  an  African's 
brain  must  contain  —  fear  and  respect,  strongly 
mingled  with  clear  estimate  of  intrinsic  character  of 
individuals  and  a  satisfaction  with  his  own  standards. 

Nor,  I  think,  do  we  realize  sufficiently  the  actual 
fundamental  differences  between  the  African  and  our 
peoples.  Physically  they  must  be  in  many  ways  as 
different  from  our  selves  as  though  they  actually  be- 
longed to  a  different  species.  The  Masai  are  a  fine 
big  race,  enduring,  well  developed  and  efficient. 
They  live  exclusively  on  cow's  milk  mixed  with 
blood;  no  meat,  no  fruit,  no  vegetables,  no  grain; 
just  that  and  nothing  more!  Obviously  they  must 

220 


NATIVES 

differ  from  us  most  radically,  or  else  all  our  dietetic 
theories  are  wrong.  It  is  a  well-known  fact  that 
any  native  requires  a  triple  dose  of  white  man's 
medicine.  Furthermore  a  native's  sensitivenesss  to 
pain  is  very  much  less  than  the  white  man's.  This 
is  indubitable.  For  example,  the  Wakamba  file  — 
or,  rather,  chip,  by  means  of  a  small  chisel  —  all 
their  front  teeth  down  to  needle  points.  When 
these  happen  to  fall  out,  the  warrior  substitutes  an 
artificial  tooth  which  he  drives  down  into  the  socket. 
If  the  savage  got  the  same  eifects  from  such  a  per- 
formance that  a  white  man's  dental  system  would 
arouse,  even  "savage  stoicism"  would  hardly  do 
him  much  good.  There  is  nothing  to  be  gained  by 
multiplying  examples.  Every  African  traveller  can 
recall  a  thousand. 

Incidentally,  and  by  the  way,  I  want  to  add  to  the 
milk-and-blood  joke  on  dietetics  another  on  the 
physical  culturists.  We  are  all  familiar  with  the 
wails  over  the  loss  of  our  toe  nails.  You  know  what 
I  mean;  they  run  somewhat  like  this:  shoes  are  the 
curse  of  civilization;  if  we  wear  them  much  longer  we 
shall  not  only  lose  the  intended  use  of  our  feet,  but 
we  shall  lose  our  toe  nails  as  well;  the  savage  man, 
etc.,  etc.,  etc.  Now  I  saw  a  great  many  of  said 
savage  men  in  Africa,  and  I  got  much  interested  in 
their  toe  nails,  because  I  soon  found  that  our  own 

221 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

civilized  "imprisoned"  toe  nails  were  very  much 
better  developed.  In  fact,  a  large  number  of  the 
free  and  untramelled  savages  have  hardly  any  toe 
nails  at  all!  Whether  this  upsets  a  theory,  nullifies 
a  sentimental  protest,  or  merely  stands  as  an  excep- 
tion, I  should  not  dare  guess.  But  the  fact  is  in- 
dubitable. 


322 


XVIII 
IN  THE  JUNGLE 

(a)    THE    MARCH    TO    MERU 

NOW,  one  day  we  left  the  Isiola  River  and  cut 
across  on  a  long  upward  slant  to  the  left.  In 
a  very  short  time  we  had  left  the  plains,  and  were 
adrift  in  an  ocean  of  brown  grass  that  concealed  all 
but  the  bobbing  loads  atop  the  safari,  and  over  which 
we  could  only  see  when  mounted.  It  was  glorious 
feed,  apparently,  but  it  contained  very  few  animals 
for  all  that.  An  animal  could  without  doubt  wax 
fat  and  sleek  therein:  but  only  to  furnish  light  and 
salutary  meals  to  beasts  of  prey.  Long  grass  makes 
easy  stalking.  We  saw  a  few  ostriches,  some  giraffe, 
and  three  or  four  singly  adventurous  oryx.  The 
ripening  grasses  were  softer  than  a  rippling  field  of 
grain;  and  even  more  beautiful  in  their  umber  reds 
and  browns.  Although  apparently  we  travelled  on 
a  level,  nevertheless  in  the  extreme  distance  the 
plains  of  our  hunting  were  dropping  below,  and  the 
far  off  mountains  were  slowly  rising  above  the  hori- 
zon. On  the  other  side  were  two  very  green  hills, 

223 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

looking  nearly  straight  up  and  down,  and  through  a 
cleft  the  splintered  snow-clad  summit  of  Mt.  Kenia. 

At  length  this  gentle  foothill  slope  broke  over  into 
rougher  country.  Then,  in  the  pass,  we  came  upon 
many  parallel  beaten  paths,  wider  and  straighter 
than  the  game  trails  —  native  tracks.  That  night 
we  camped  in  a  small,  round  valley  under  some 
glorious  trees,  with  green  grass  around  us;  a  refresh- 
ing contrast  after  the  desert  brown.  In  the  distance 
ahead  stood  a  big  hill,  and  at  its  base  we  could  make 
out  amid  the  tree-green,  the  straight  slim  smoke  of 
many  fires  and  the  threads  of  many  roads. 

We  began  our  next  morning's  march  early,  and 
we  dropped  over  the  hill  into  a  wide,  cultivated 
valley.  Fields  of  grain,  mostly  rape,  were  planted 
irregularly  among  big  scattered  trees.  The  morning 
air,  warming  under  the  sun,  was  as  yet  still,  and 
carried  sound  well.  The  cooing,  chattering  and 
calling  of  thousands  of  birds  mingled  with  shouts 
and  the  clapping  together  of  pieces  of  wood.  As  we 
came  closer  we  saw  that  every  so  often  scaffolds  had 
been  erected  overlooking  the  grain,  and  on  these 
scaffolds  naked  boys  danced  and  yelled  and  worked 
clappers  to  scare  the  birds  from  the  crops.  They 
seemed  to  put  a  great  deal  of  vigour  into  the  job; 
whether  from  natural  enthusiasm  or  efficient  direful 
supervision  I  could  not  say.  Certainly  they  must 

224 


IN  THE  JUNGLE 

have  worked  in  watches,  however;  no  human  being 
could  keep  up  that  row  continuously  for  a  single 
day,  let  alone  the  whole  season  of  ripening  grain. 
As  we  passed  they  fell  silent  and  stared  their  fill. 

On  the  banks  of  a  boggy  little  stream  that  we  had 
to  flounder  across  we  came  on  a  gentleman  and  lady 
travelling.  They  were  a  tall,  well  formed  pair, 
mahogany  in  colour,  with  the  open,  pleasant  ex- 
pression of  most  of  these  jungle  peoples.  The  man 
wore  a  string  around  his  waist  into  which  was  thrust 
a  small  leafy  branch;  the  woman  had  on  a  beautiful 
skirt  made  by  halving  a  banana  leaf,  using  the  stem 
as  belt,  and  letting  the  leaf  part  hang  down  as  a 
skirt.  Shortly  after  meeting  these  people  we  turned 
sharp  to  the  right  on  a  well  beaten  road. 

For  nearly  two  weeks  we  were  to  follow  this  road, 
so  it  may  be  as  well  to  get  an  idea  of  it.  Its  course 
was  a  segment  of  about  a  sixth  of  the  circle  of  Ken- 
ia's  foothills.  With  Kenia  itself  as  a  centre,  this 
road  swung  among  the  lower  elevations  about  the 
base  of  that  great  mountain.  Its  course  was  mainly 
down  and  up  hundreds  of  the  canons  radiating  from 
the  main  peak,  and  over  the  ridges  between  them. 
No  sooner  were  we  down,  than  we  had  to  climb  up; 
and  no  sooner  were  we  up,  than  once  more  down  we 
had  to  plunge.  At  times,  however,  we  crossed 
considerable  plateaus.  Most  of  this  country  was 

225 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

dense  jungle,  so  dense  that  we  could  not  see  on  either 
side  more  than  fifteen  or  twenty  feet.  Occasion- 
ally, atop  the  ridges,  however,  we  would  come  upon 
small  open  parks.  In  these  jungles  live  millions  of 
human  beings. 

At  once,  as  soon  as  we  had  turned  into  the  main 
road,  we  began  to  meet  people.  In  the  grain  fields 
of  the  valley  we  saw  only  the  elevated  boys,  and  a 
few  men  engaged  in  weaving  a  little  house  perched 
on  stilts.  We  came  across  some  of  these  little 
houses  all  completed,  with  conical  roofs.  They 
were  evidently  used  for  granaries.  As  we  mounted 
the  slope  on  the  other  side,  however,  the  trees  closed 
in,  and  we  found  ourselves  marching  down  the  nar- 
row aisle  of  the  jungle  itself. 

It  was  a  dense  and  beautiful  jungle,  with  very  tall: 
trees  and  the  deepest  shade;  and  the  impenetrable 
tangle  to  the  edge  of  the  track.  Among  the  trees 
were  the  broad  leaves  of  bananas  and  palms,  the 
fling  of  leafy  vines.  Over  the  track  these  branches 
leaned,  so  that  we  rode  through  splashing  sunlight 
and  mottling  shade.  Nothing  could  have  seemed 
wilder  than  this  apparently  impenetrable  growth; 
and  yet  we  had  ridden  but  a  short  distance  before 
we  realized  that  we  were  in  fact  passing  through 
cultivated  land.  It  was,  again,  oniy  a  difference  in 
terms.  Native  cultivation  in  this  district  rarely 

226 


IN  THE  JUNGLE 

consists  of  clearing  land  and  planting  crops  in  due 
order,  but  in  leaving  the  forest  proper  as  it  is,  and 
in  planting  foodstuffs  haphazard  wherever  a  tiny 
space  can  be  made  for  even  three  hills  of  corn  or  a 
single  banana.  Thus  they  add  to  rather  than  sub- 
tract from  the  typical  density  of  the  jungle.  At  first, 
we  found,  it  took  some  practice  to  tell  a  farm  when 
we  saw  it. 

From  the  track  narrow  little  paths  wound  im- 
mediately out  of  sight.  Sometimes  we  saw  a  wisp 
of  smoke  rising  above  the  undergrowth  and  eddying 
in  the  tops  of  the  trees.  Long  vine  ropes  swung 
from  point  to  point,  hung  at  intervals  with  such 
matters  as  feathers,  bones,  miniature  shields,  carved 
sticks,  shells  and  clappers:  either  as  magic  or  to 
keep  off  the  birds.  From  either  side  the  track 
we  were  conscious  always  of  bright  black  eyes  watch- 
ing us.  Sometimes  we  caught  a  glimpse  of  their 
owners  crouched  in  the  bush,  concealed  behind  ba- 
nana leaves,  motionless  and  straight  against  a  tree 
trunk.  When  they  saw  themselves  observed  they 
vanished  without  a  sound. 

The  upper  air  was  musical  with  birds,  and  bright 
with  the  flutter  of  their  wings.  Rarely  did  we  see 
them,  long  enough  to  catch  a  fair  idea  of  their  size 
and  shape.  They  flashed  from  shade  to  shade, 
leaving  only  an  impression  of  brilliant  colour. 

227 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

There  were  some  exceptions:  as  the  widower-bird, 
dressed  all  in  black,  with  long  trailing  wing-plumes 
of  which  he  seemed  very  proud;  and  the  various  sorts 
of  green  pigeons  and  parrots.  There  were  many 
flowering  shrubs  and  trees:  and  the  air  was  laden 
with  perfume.  Strange,  too,  it  seemed  to  see  tall 
trees  with  leaves  three  or  four  feet  long  and  half  as 
many  wide. 

We  were  riding  a  mile  or  so  ahead  of  the  safari. 
At  first  we  were  accompanied  only  by  our  gunbearers 
and  syces.  Before  long,  however,  we  began  to  accu- 
mulate a  following. 

This  consisted  at  first  of  a  very  wonderful  young 
man,  probably  a  chiefs  son.  He  carried  a  long 
bright  spear,  wore  a  short  sword  thrust  through  a 
girdle,  had  his  hair  done  in  three  wrapped  queues, 
one  over  each  temple  and  one  behind,  and  was 
generally  brought  to  a  high  state  of  polish  by  means 
of  red  earth  and  oil.  About  his  knee  he  wore  a  little 
bell  that  jingled  pleasingly  at  every  step.  From  one 
shoulder  hung  a  goat-skin  cloak  embroidered  with 
steel  beads.  A  small  package  neatly  done  up  in 
leaves  probably  contained  his  lunch.  He  teetered 
along  with  a  mincing  up  and  down  step,  every 
movement,  and  the  expression  of  his  face  display- 
ing a  fatuous  self-satisfaction.  When  we  looked 
back  again  this  youth  had  magically  become  two. 

228 


IN  THE  JUNGLE 

Then  appeared  two  women  and  a  white  goat.  All 
except  the  goat  were  dressed  for  visiting,  with  long 
chains  of  beads,  bracelets  and  anklets,  and  heavy 
ornaments  in  the  distended  ear  lobes.  The  manner 
people  sprang  apparently  out  of  the  ground  was 
very  disconcerting.  It  was  a  good  deal  like  those 
fairy-story  moving  pictures  where  a  wave  of  the  wand 
produces  beautiful  ladies.  By  half  an  hour  we  had 
acquired  a  long  retinue  —  young  warriors,  old  men, 
women  and  innumerable  children.  After  we  had 
passed,  the  new  recruits  stepped  quietly  from  the 
shadow  of  the  jungle  and  fell  in.  Every  one  with 
nothing  much  to  do  evidently  made  up  his  mind  he 
might  as  well  go  to  Meru  now  as  any  other  time. 

Also  we  met  a  great  number  of  people  going  in  the 
other  direction.  Women  were  bearing  loads  of 
yams.  Chiefs'  sons  minced  along,  their  spears 
poised  in  their  left  hands  at  just  the  proper  angle, 
their  bangles  jingling,  their  right  hands  carried 
raised  in  a  most  affected  manner.  Their  social  ease 
was  remarkable,  especially  in  contrast  with  the  awk- 
wardness of  the  lower  poverty-stricken  or  menial 
castes.  The  latter  drew  one  side  to  let  us  pass,  and 
stared.  Our  chiefs'  sons,  on  the  other  hand,  stepped 
springingly  and  beamingly  forward;  spat  carefully 
in  their  hands  (we  did  the  same);  shook  hands 
all  down  the  line:  exchanged  a  long-drawn  "moo- 

229 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

o-ga!"  with  each  of  us;  and  departed  at  the  same 
springing  rapid  gait.  The  ordinary  warriors  greeted 
us,  but  did  not  offer  to  shake  hands,  thank  goodness! 
There  were  a  great  many  of  them.  Across  the  val- 
leys and  through  the  open  spaces  the  sun,  as  it 
struck  down  the  trail,  was  always  flashing  back  from 
distant  spears.  Twice  we  met  flocks  of  sheep  being 
moved  from  one  point  to  another.  Three  or  four 
herdsmen  and  innumerable  small  boys  seemed  to 
be  in  charge.  Occasionally  we  met  a  real  chief  or 
headman  of  a  village,  distinguished  by  the  fact  that 
he  or  a  servant  carried  a  small  wooden  stool.  With 
these  dignitaries  we  always  stopped  to  exchange 
friendly  words. 

These  comprised  the  travelling  public.  The  resi- 
dent public  also  showed  itself  quite  in  evidence. 
Once  our  retainers  had  become  sufficiently  numer- 
ous to  inspire  confidence,  the  jungle  people  no  longer 
hid.  On  the  contrary,  they  came  out  to  the  very 
edge  of  the  track  to  exchange  greetings.  They  were 
very  good-natured,  exceedingly  well-formed,  and 
quite  jocular  with  our  boys.  Especially  did  our 
suave  and  elegant  Simba  sparkle.  This  resident 
public,  called  from  its  daily  labours  and  duties,  did 
not  always  show  as  gaudy  a  make-up  as  did  the 
dressed-up  travelling  public.  Banana  leaves  were 
popular  wear,  and  seemed  to  us  at  once  pretty  and 

230 


IN  THE  JUNGLE 

fresh.  To  be  sure  some  had  rather  withered  away; 
but  even  wool  will  shrink.  We  saw  some  grass 
skirts,  like  the  Sunday-school  pictures. 

At  noon  we  stopped  under  a  tree  by  a  little  stream 
for  lunch.  Before  long  a  dozen  women  were  lined 
up  in  front  of  us  staring  at  Billy  with  all  their  might. 
She  nodded  and  smiled  at  them.  Thereupon  they 
sent  one  of  their  number  away.  The  messenger 
returned  after  a  few  moments  carrying  a  bunch  of 
the  small  eating  bananas  which  she  laid  at  our  feet. 
Billy  fished  some  beads  out  of  her  saddle  bags,  and 
presented  them.  Friendly  relations  having  been 
thus  fully  established,  two  or  three  of  the  women 
scurried  hastily  away,  to  return  a  few  moments  later 
each  with  her  small  child.  To  these  infants  they 
carefully  and  earnestly  pointed  out  Billy  and  her 
wonders,  talking  in  a  tongue  unknown  to  us.  The 
admonition  undoubtedly  ran  something  like  this: 

"Now,  my  child,  look  well  at  this:  for  when  you 
get  to  be  a  very  old  person  you  will  be  able  to  look 
back  at  the  day  when  with  your  own  eyes  you  be- 
held a  white  woman.  See  all  the  strange  things  she 
wears  —  and  hasn't  she  a  funny  face?" 

We  offered  these  bung-eyed  and  totally  naked 
youngsters  various  bribes  in  the  way  of  beads,  the 
tinfoil  from  chocolate,  and  even  a  small  piece  of  the 
chocolate  itself.  Most  of  them  howled  and  hid  their 

231 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

faces  against  their  mothers.  The  mothers  looked  scan- 
dalized, and  hypocritically  astounded,  and  mortified. 
They  made  remarks,  still  in  an  unknown  language, 
but  which  much  past  experience  enabled  me  to 
translate  very  readily: 

"I  don't  know  what  has  got  into  little  Willie," 
was  the  drift  of  it.  "  I  have  never  known  him  to  act 
this  way  before.  Why,  only  yesterday  I  was  saying 
to  his  father  that  it  really  seemed  as  though  that 
child  never  cried " 

It  made  me  feel  quite  friendly  and  at  home. 

Now  at  last  came  two  marvellous  and  magnificent 
personages  before  whom  the  women  and  children 
drew  back  to  a  respectful  distance.  These  potentates 
squatted  down  and  smiled  at  us  engagingly.  Evi- 
dently this  was  a  really  important  couple,  so  we 
called  up  Simba,  who  knew  the  language,  and  had  a 
talk. 

They  were  old  men,  straight,  and  very  tall,  with 
the  hawk-faced,  high-headed  dignity  of  the  true 
aristocrat.  Their  robes  were  voluminous,  of  some 
short-haired  skins,  beautifully  embroidered.  Around 
their  arms  were  armlets  of  polished  buffalo  horn. 
They  wore  most  elaborate  ear  ornaments,  and  long 
carved  marquise  rings  extending  well  beyond  the 
first  joints  of  the  fingers.  Very  fine  old  gentlemen. 
They  were  quite  unarmed. 

232 


"In  a  very  short  time  we  had  left  the  plains,  and  were 
adrift  in  an  ocean  of  grass." 


'By  half  an  hour  we  had  acquired  a  long  retinue.' 


The  native  quarters  lying  in  the  hollow." 


'In  short,  it  was  a  genuine,  scientific,  well-kept  golf  course.' 


IN  THE  JUNGLE 

After  appropriate  greetings,  we  learned  that  these 
were  the  chief  and  his  prime  minister  of  a  nearby 
village  hidden  in  the  jungle.  We  exchanged  polite 
phrases;  then  offered  tobacco.  This  was  accepted. 
From  the  jungle  came  a  youth  carrying  more  ba- 
nanas. We  indicated  our  pleasure.  The  old  men 
arose  with  great  dignity  and  departed,  sweeping  the 
women  and  children  before  them. 

We  rode  on.  Our  acquired  retinue,  which  had 
waited  at  a  respectful  distance,  went  on  too.  I 
suppose  they  must  have  desired  the  prestige  of  be- 
ing attached  to  Our  Persons.  In  the  depths  of  the 
forest  Billy  succumbed  to  the  temptation  to  bargain, 
and  made  her  first  trade.  Her  prize  was  a  long  water 
gourd  strapped  with  leather  and  decorated  with 
cowry  shells.  Our  boys  were  completely  scandalized 
at  the  price  she  paid  for  it,  so  I  fear  the  wily  savage 
got  ahead  of  her. 

About  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  we  sat  down  to 
wait  for  the  safari  to  catch  up.  It  would  never  do 
to  cheat  our  boys  out  of  their  anticipated  grand  en- 
trance to  the  Government  post  at  Meru.  We  finally 
debouched  from  the  forest  to  the  great  clearing  at 
the  head  of  a  most  impressive  procession,  flags  flying, 
oryx  horns  blowing,  boys  chanting  and  beating  the 
sides  of  their  loads  with  the  safari  sticks.  As  there 
happened  to  be  gathered,  at  this  time,  several  thou- 

233 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

sand  of  warriors  for  the  purpose  of  a  council,  or 
shauri,  with  the  District  Commissioner  we  had  just 
the  audience  to  delight  our  barbaric  hearts. 

(b)  MERU 

The  Government  post  at  Meru  is  situated  in  a 
clearing  won  from  the  forest  on  the  first  gentle  slopes 
of  Kenia's  ranges.  The  clearing  is  a  very  large  one, 
and  on  it  the  grass  grows  green  and  short,  like  a 
lawn.  It  resembles,  as  much  as  anything  else,  the 
rolling,  beautiful  downs  of  a  first-class  country  club : 
and  the  illusion  is  enhanced  by  the  Commissioner's 
house  among  some  trees  atop  a  hill.  Well-kept 
roadways  railed  with  rustic  fences  lead  from  the 
house  to  the  native  quarters  lying  in  the  hollow  and 
to  the  Government  offices  atop  another  hill.  Then 
also  there  are  the  quarters  of  the  Nubian  troops; 
round  low  houses  with  conical  grass  roofs. 

These,  and  the  presence  everywhere  of  savages, 
rather  take  away  from  the  first  country-club  effect. 
A  corral  seemed  full  of  a  seething  mob  of  natives; 
we  found  later  that  this  was  the  market,  a  place  of 
exchange.  Groups  wandered  idly  here  and  there 
across  the  greensward;  and  other  groups  sat  in  cir- 
cles under  the  shade  of  trees,  each  man's  spear  stuck 
in  the  ground  behind  him.  At  stated  points  were 
the  Nubians,  fine,  tall,  black,  soldierly  men,  with 

234 


IN  THE  JUNGLE 

red  fez,  khaki  shirt,  and  short  breeches,  bare  knees 
and  feet,  spiral  puttees,  and  a  broad  red  sash  of 
webbing.  One  of  these  soldiers  assigned  us  a  place 
to  camp.  We  directed  our  safari  there,  and  then 
immediately  rode  over  to  pay  our  respects  to  the 
Commissioner. 

The  latter,  Horne  by  name,  greeted  us  with  the 
utmost  cordiality,  and  offered  us  cool  drinks.  Then 
we  accompanied  him  to  a  grand  shauri  or  council 
of  chiefs. 

Horne  was  a  little  chap,  dressed  in  flannels  and 
a  big  slouch  hat,  carrying  only  a  light  rawhide  whip, 
with  very  little  of  the  dignity  and  "side"  usually 
considered  necessary  in  dealing  with  wild  natives. 
The  post  at  Meru  had  been  established  only  two 
years,  among  a  people  that  had  always  been  very 
difficult,  and  had  only  recently  ceased  open  hos- 
tilities. Nevertheless  in  that  length  of  time  Home's 
personal  influence  had  won  them  over  to  positive 
friendliness.  He  had,  moreover,  done  the  entire  con- 
struction work  of  the  post  itself;  and  this  we  now 
saw  to  be  even  more  elaborate  than  we  had  at  first 
realized.  Irrigating  ditches  ran  in  all  directions 
brimming  with  clear  mountain  water;  the  roads 
and  paths  were  rounded,  graded  and  gravelled;  the 
houses  were  substantial,  well  built  and  well  kept; 
fences,  except  of  course  the  rustic,  were  whitewashed ; 

235 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

the  native  quarters  and  "barracks"  were  well  ar- 
ranged and  in  perfect  order.  The  place  looked  ten 
years  old  instead  of  only  two. 

We  followed  Home  to  an  enclosure,  outside  the  gate 
of  which  were  stacked  a  great  number  of  spears. 
Inside  we  found  the  owners  of  those  spears  squatted 
before  the  open  side  of  a  small,  three-walled  build- 
ing containing  a  table  and  a  chair.  Home  placed 
himself  in  the  chair,  lounged  back,  and  hit  the  table 
smartly  with  his  rawhide  whip.  From  the  centre 
of  the  throng  an  old  man  got  up  and  made  quite  a 
long  speech.  When  he  had  finished  another  did 
likewise.  All  was  carried  out  with  the  greatest  de- 
corum. After  four  or  five  had  thus  spoken,  Home, 
without  altering  his  lounging  attitude,  spoke  twenty 
or  thirty  words,  rapped  again  on  the  table  with  his 
rawhide  whip,  and  immediately  came  over  to  us. 

"Now,"  said  he  cheerfully,  "we'll  have  a  game  of 
golf." 

That  was  amusing,  but  not  astonishing.  Most 
of  us  have  at  one  time  or  another  laid  out  a  scratch 
hole  or  so  somewhere  in  the  vacant  lot.  We  re- 
turned to  the  house,  Home  produced  a  sufficiency  of 
clubs,  and  we  sallied  forth.  Then  came  the  sur- 
prise of  our  life!  We  played  eighteen  holes  —  eigh- 
teen, mind  you  —  over  an  excellently  laid-out  and 
kept-up  course!  The  fair  greens  were  cropped  short 

236 


IN  THE  JUNGLE 

and  smooth  by  a  well-managed  small  herd  of  sheep; 
the  putting  greens  were  rolled,  and  in  perfect  order; 
bunkers  had  been  located  at  the  correct  distances; 
there  were  water  hazards  in  the  proper  spots.  In 
short,  it  was  a  genuine,  scientific,  well-kept  golf 
course.  Over  it  played  Home,  solitary  except  on  the 
rare  occasions  when  he  and  his  assistant  happened  to 
be  at  the  post  at  the  same  time.  The  nearest  white 
man  was  six  days'  journey;  the  nearest  small  civil- 
ization 196  miles.*  The  whole  affair  was  most 
astounding. 

Our  caddies  were  grinning  youngsters  a  good  deal 
like  the  Gold  Dust  Twins.  They  wore  nothing  but 
our  golf  bags.  Afield  were  other  supernumerary 
caddies :  one  in  case  we  sliced,  one  in  case  we  pulled, 
and  one  in  case  we  drove  straight  ahead.  Home 
explained  that  unlimited  caddies  were  easier  to  get 
than  unlimited  golf  balls.  I  can  well  believe  it. 

F.  joined  forces  with  Home  against  B.  and  me  for 
a  grand  international  match.  I  regret  to  state  that 
America  was  defeated  by  two  holes. 

We  returned  to  find  our  camp  crowded  with  sav- 
ages. In  a  short  time  we  had  established  trade  re- 
lations and  were  doing  a  brisk  business.  Two  years 
before  we  should  have  had  to  barter  exclusively;  but 
now,  thanks  to  Home's  attempt  to  collect  an  annual 

'Which,  was,  in  turn,  over  three  hundred  miles  from  the  next. 

237 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

hut  tax,  money  was  some  good.  We  had,  however, 
very  good  luck  with  bright  blankets  and  cotton 
cloth.  Our  beads  did  not  happen  here  to  be  in 
fashion.  Probably  three  months  earlier  or  later  we 
might  have  done  better  with  them.  The  feminine 
mind  here  differs  in  no  basic  essential  from  that  of 
civilization.  Fashions  change  as  rapidly,  as  often 
and  as  completely  in  the  jungle  as  in  Paris.  The 
trader  who  brings  blue  beads  when  blue  beads  have 
"gone  out"  might  just  as  well  have  stayed  at  home. 
We  bought  a  number  of  the  pretty  "marquise" 
rings  for  four  cents  apiece  (our  money),  some  war 
clubs  or  rungas  for  the  same,  several  spears,  armlets, 
stools  and  the  like.  Billy  thought  one  of  the  short, 
soft  skin  cloaks  embroidered  with  steel  beads  might 
be  nice  to  hang  on  the  wall.  We  offered  a  youth  two 
rupees  for  one.  This  must  have  been  a  high  price, 
for  every  man  in  hearing  of  the  words  snatched  off 
his  cloak  and  rushed  forward  holding  it  out.  As 
that  reduced  his  costume  to  a  few  knick-knacks,  Billy 
retired  from  the  busy  mart  until  we  could  arrange 
matters. 

We  dined  with  Home.  His  official  residence  was 
most  interesting.  The  main  room  was  very  high 
to  beams  and  a  grass-thatched  roof,  with  a  well- 
brushed  earth  floor  covered  with  mats.  It  contained 
comfortable  furniture,  a  small  library,  a  good  phono- 

238 


IN  THE  JUNGLE 

graph,  tables,  lamps  and  the  like.  When  the  moun- 
tain chill  descended,  Home  lit  a  fire  in  a  coal-oil 
can  with  a  perforated  bottom.  What  little  smoke 
was  produced  by  the  clean  burning  wood  lost  itself 
far  aloft.  Leopard  skins  and  other  trophies  hung 
on  the  wall.  We  dined  in  another  room  at  a  well- 
appointed  table.  After  dinner  we  sat  up  until  the 
unheard  of  hour  of  ten  o'clock  discussing  at  length 
many  matters  that  interested  us.  Home  told  us  of 
his  personal  bodyguard  consisting  of  one  son  from 
each  chief  of  his  wide  district.  These  youths  were 
encouraged  to  make  as  good  an  appearance  as  pos- 
sible, and  as  a  consequence  turned  out  in  the  extreme 
of  savage  gorgeousness.  Home  spoke  of  them  care- 
lessly as  a  "matter  of  policy  in  keeping  the  different 
tribes  well  disposed,"  but  I  thought  he  was  at  heart 
a  little  proud  of  them.  Certainly,  later  and  from 
other  sources,  we  heard  great  tales  of  their  endur- 
ance, devotion  and  efficiency.  Also  we  heard  that 
Home  had  cut  in  half  his  six  months'  leave  (earned 
by  three  years'  continuous  service  in  the  jungle)  to 
hurry  back  from  England  because  he  could  not  bear 
the  thought  of  being  absent  from  the  first  collection 
of  the  hut  tax!  He  is  a  good  man. 

We  said  good-night  to  him  and  stepped  from  the 
lighted  house  into  the  vast  tropical  night.  The  little 
rays  of  our  lantern  showed  us  the  inequalities  of  the 

239 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

ground,  and  where  to  step  across  the  bubbling,  little 
irrigation  streams.  But  thousands  of  stars  insisted 
on  a  simplification.  The  broad,  rolling  meadows  of 
the  clearing  lay  half  guessed  in  the  dim  light;  and 
about  its  edge  was  the  velvet  band  of  the  forest, 
dark  and  mysterious,  stretching  away  for  leagues 
into  the  jungle.  From  it  near  at  hand,  far  away, 
came  the  rhythmic  beating  of  solemn  great  drums, 
and  the  rising  and  falling  chants  of  the  savage 
peoples. 

(c)  THE  CHIEFS 

We  left  Meru  well  observed  by  a  very  large  au- 
dience, much  to  the  delight  of  our  safari  boys,  who 
love  to  show  off.  We  had  acquired  fourteen  more 
small  boys,  or  totos,  ranging  in  age  from  eight  to 
twelve  years.  These  had  been  fitted  out  by  their 
masters  to  alleviate  their  original  shenzi  appear- 
ance of  savagery.  Some  had  ragged  blankets, 
which  they  had  already  learned  to  twist  turban  wise 
around  their  heads;  others  had  ragged  old  jerseys 
reaching  to  their  knees,  or  the  wrecks  of  full-grown 
undershirts;  one  or  two  even  sported  baggy  breeches 
a  dozen  sizes  too  large.  Each  carried  his  little  load, 
proudly,  atop  his  head  like  a  real  porter,  sufurias 
or  cooking  pots,  the  small  bags  of  potio,  and  the  like. 
Inside  a  mile  they  had  gravitated  together  and  with 

240 


IN  THE  JUNGLE 

the  small  boy's  relish  for  imitation  and  for  playing 
a  game,  had  completed  a  miniature  safari  organiza- 
tion of  their  own.  Thenceforth  they  marched  in  a 
compact  little  company,  under  orders  of  their  "head- 
man." They  marched  very  well,  too,  straight  and 
proud  and  tireless.  Of  course  we  inspected  their 
loads  to  see  that  they  were  not  required  to  carry  too 
much  for  their  strength;  but,  I  am  bound  to  say,  we 
never  discovered  an  attempt  at  overloading.  In 
fact,  the  toto  brigade  was  treated  very  well  indeed. 
M'ganga  especially  took  great  interest  in  their  educa- 
tion and  welfare.  One  of  my  most  vivid  camp  recol- 
lections is  that  of  M'ganga,  very  benign  and  didactic, 
seated  on  a  chop  box  and  holding  forth  to  a  semi- 
circle of  totos  squatted  on  the  ground  before  him. 
On  reaching  camp  totos  had  several  clearly  denned 
duties:  they  must  pick  out  good  places  for  their 
masters'  individual  camps,  they  must  procure  cook- 
ing stones,  they  must  collect  kindling  wood  and  start 
fires,  they  must  fill  the  sufurias  with  water  and 
set  them  over  to  boil.  In  the  meantime,  their  mas- 
ters were  attending  to  the  pitching  of  the  bwana's 
camp.  The  rest  of  the  time  the  toto  played  about 
quite  happily,  and  did  light  odd  jobs,  or  watched 
most  attentively  while  his  master  showed  him 
small  details  of  a  safari-boy's  duty,  or  taught  him 
simple  handicraft.  Our  boys  seemed  to  take 

241 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

great  pains  with  their  totos  and  to  try  hard  to  teach 
them. 

Also  at  Meru  we  had  acquired  two  cocks  and  four 
hens  of  the  ridiculously  small  native  breed.  These 
rode  atop  the  loads :  their  feet  were  tied  to  the  cords 
and  there  they  swayed  and  teetered  and  balanced 
all  day  long,  apparently  quite  happy  and  interested. 
At  each  new  camp  site  they  were  released  and  went 
scratching  and  clucking  around  among  the  tents. 
They  lent  our  temporary  quarters  quite  a  settled 
air  of  domesticity.  We  named  the  cocks  Gaston  and 
Alphonse  and  somehow  it  was  rather  fine,  in  the 
blackness  before  dawn,  to  hear  these  little  birds 
crowing  stout-heartedly  against  the  great  African 
wilderness.  Neither  Gaston,  Alphonse  nor  any  of 
their  harem  were  killed  and  eaten  by  their  owners; 
but  seemed  rather  to  fulfil  the  function  of  household 
pets. 

Along  the  jungle  track  we  met  swarms  of  people 
coming  in  to  the  post.  One  large  native  safari  com- 
posed exclusively  of  women  were  transporting  loads 
of  trade  goods  for  the  Indian  trader.  They  carried 
their  burdens  on  their  backs  by  means  of  a  strap 
passing  over  the  top  of  the  head;  our  own  "tump 
line"  method.  The  labour  seemed  in  no  way  to 
have  dashed  their  spirits,  for  they  grinned  at  us,  and 
joked  merrily  with  our  boys.  Along  the  way,  every 

242 


IN  THE  JUNGLE 

once  in  a  while,  we  came  upon  people  squatted  down 
behind  small  stocks  of  sugarcane,  yams,  bananas, 
and  the  like.  With  these  our  boys  did  a  brisk  trade. 
Little  paths  led  mysteriously  into  the  jungle.  Down 
them  came  more  savages  to  greet  us.  Everybody 
was  most  friendly  and  cheerful,  thanks  to  Home's 
personal  influence.  Two  years  before  this  same 
lot  had  been  hostile.  From  every  hidden  village 
came  the  headmen  or  chiefs.  They  all  wanted  to 
shake  hands  —  the  ordinary  citizen  never  dreamed 
of  aspiring  to  that  honour  —  and  they  all  spat  care- 
fully into  their  palms  before  they  did  so.  This  all 
had  to  be  done  in  passing:  for  ordinary  village  head- 
men it  was  beneath  Our  Dignity  to  draw  rein. 
Once  only  we  broke  over  this  rule.  That  was  in  the 
case  of  an  old  fellow  with  white  hair  who  managed 
to  get  so  tangled  up  in  the  shrubbery  that  he  could 
not  get  to  us.  He  was  so  frantic  with  disappoint- 
ment that  we  made  an  exception  and  waited. 

About  three  miles  out,  we  lost  one  of .  our  newly 
acquired  totos.  Reason:  an  exasperated  parent, 
who  had  followed  from  Mem  for  the  purpose  of  re- 
claiming his  runaway  offspring.  The  latter  was 
dragged  off  howling.  Evidently  he,  like  some  of  his 
civilized  cousins,  had  "run  away  to  join  the  circus." 
As  nearly  as  we  could  get  at  it,  the  rest  of  the  totos, 
as  well  as  the  nine  additional  we  picked  up  before 

243 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

we  quitted  the  jungle,  had  all  come  with  their  par- 
ents' consent.  In  fact,  we  soon  discovered  that  we 
could  buy  any  amount  of  good  sound  totos,  not  house 
broke  however,  for  an  average  of  half  a  rupee  (i6£ 
cents)  apiece. 

The  road  was  very  much  up  and  down  hill  over 
the  numerous  ridges  that  star-fish  out  from  Mt. 
Kenia.  We  would  climb  down  steep  trails  from  200 
to  800  feet  (measured  by  aneroid),  cross  an  excellent 
mountain  stream  of  crystalline  dashing  water,  and 
climb  out  again.  The  trails  of  course  had  no  notion 
of  easy  grades.  It  was  very  hard  work,  especially 
for  men  with  loads;  and  it  would  have  been  impos- 
sible on  account  of  the  heat  were  it  not  for  the  nu- 
merous streams.  On  the  slopes  and  in  the  bottoms 
were  patches  of  magnificent  forest;  on  the  crests 
was  the  jungle,  and  occasionally  an  outlook  over  ex- 
tended views.  The  birds  and  the  strange  tropical 
big-leaved  trees  were  a  constant  delight  —  exotic 
and  strange.  Billy  was  in  a  heaven  of  joy,  for  her 
specialty  in  Africa  was  plants,  seeds  and  bulbs,  for 
her  California  garden.  She  had  syces,  gunbearers 
and  tent  boys  all  climbing,  shaking  branches,  and 
generally  pawing  about. 

This  idiosyncracy  of  Billy's  puzzled  our  boys 
hugely.  At  first  they  tried  telling  her  that  every- 
thing was  poisonous;  but  when  that  did  not  work, 

244 


Meru.    In  the  native  quarters.     Women  grinding  corn. 


"It  resembles  the  rolling  beautiful  downs  of  a  first-class 
country  club." 


IN  THE  JUNGLE 

they  resigned  themselves  to  their  fate.  In  fact, 
some  of  the  most  enterprising  like  Memba  Sasa, 
Kitaru,  and,  later,  Kongoni  used  of  their  own  ac- 
cord to  hunt  up  and  bring  in  seeds  and  blossoms. 
They  did  not  in  the  least  understand  what  it  was  for; 
and  it  used  to  puzzle  them  hugely  until  out  of  sheer 
pity  for  their  uneasiness,  I  implied  that  the  Mem- 
sahib  collected  "medicine."  That  was  rational,  so 
the  wrinkled  brow  of  care  was  smoothed.  From 
this  botanical  trait,  Billy  got  her  native  name  of 
"Beebee  Kooletta"  —  "The  Lady  Who  Says:  Go 
Get  That."  For  in  Africa  every  white  man  has  a 
name  by  which  he  is  known  among  the  native  people. 
If  you  would  get  news  of  your  friends,  you  must  know 
their  local  cognomens  —  their  own  white  man  names 
will  not  do  at  all.  For  example,  I  was  called  either 
Bwana  Machumwani  or  Bwana  N'goma.  The 
former  means  merely  Master  Four-eyes,  referring  to 
my  glasses.  The  precise  meaning  of  the  latter  is  a 
matter  much  disputed  between  myself  and  Billy. 
An  N'goma  is  a  native  dance,  consisting  of  drum 
poundings,  chantings,  and  hoppings  around.  There- 
fore I  translate  myself  (most  appropriately)  as  the 
Master  who  Makes  Merry.  On  the  other  hand, 
Billy,  with  true  feminine  indirectness,  insists  that 
it  means  "The  Master  who  Shouts  and  Howls."  I 
leave  it  to  any  fairminded  reader. 

245 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

About  the  middle  of  the  morning  we  met  a  Govern- 
ment runner,  a  proud  youth,  young,  lithe,  with 
many  ornaments  and  bangles;  his  red  skin  glisten- 
ing; the  long  blade  of  his  spear,  bound  around  with 
a  red  strip  to  signify  his  office,  slanting  across 
his  shoulder;  his  buffalo  hide  shield  slung  from  it 
over  his  back;  the  letter  he  was  bearing  stuck  in  a 
cleft  stick  and  carried  proudly  before  him  as  a 
priest  carries  a  cross  to  the  heathen  —  in  the 
pictures.  He  was  swinging  along  at  a  brisk  pace, 
but  on  seeing  us  drew  up  and  gave  us  a  smart  mili- 
tary salute! 

At  one  point  where  the  path  went  level  and 
straight  for  some  distance,  we  were  riding  in  an 
absolute  solitude.  Suddenly  from  the  jungle  on 
either  side  and  about  fifty  yards  ahead  of  us  leaped  a 
dozen  women.  They  were  dressed  in  grass  skirts, 
and  carried  long  narrow  wooden  shields  painted 
white  and  brown.  These  they  clashed  together, 
shrieked  shrilly,  and  charged  down  on  us  at  full 
speed.  When  within  a  few  yards  of  our  horses' 
noses  they  came  to  a  sudden  halt,  once  more  clashed 
their  shields,  shrieked,  turned  and  scuttled  away  as 
fast  as  their  legs  could  carry  them.  At  a  hundred 
yards  they  repeated  the  performance;  and  charged 
back  at  us  again.  Thus  advancing  and  retreating, 
shrieking  high,  hitting  the  wooden  shields  with  re- 

246 


IN  THE  JUNGLE 

sounding  crash,  they  preceded  our  slow  advance  for 
a  half  mile  or  so.  Then  at  some  signal  unperceived 
by  us  they  vanished  abruptly  into  the  jungle. 
Once  more  we  rode  forward  in  silence  and  in  soli- 
tude. Why  they  did  it  I  could  not  say. 

Of  this  tissue  were  our  days  made.  At  noon  our 
boys  plucked  us  each  two  or  three  banana  leaves 
which  they  spread  down  for  us  to  lie  on.  Then  we 
dozed  through  the  hot  hours  in  great  comfort,  oc- 
casionally waking  to  blue  sky  through  green  trees, 
or  to  peer  idly  into  the  tangled  jungle.  At  two 
o'clock  or  a  little  later  we  would  arouse  ourselves 
reluctantly  and  move  on.  The  safari  we  had  dimly 
heard  passing  us  an  hour  before.  In  this  country  of 
the  direct  track  we  did  not  attempt  to  accompany 
our  men. 

The  end  of  the  day's  march  found  us  in  a  little 
clearing  where  we  could  pitch  camp.  Generally  this 
was  atop  a  ridge,  so  that  the  boys  had  some  dis- 
tance to  carry  water;  but  that  disadvantage  was  out- 
weighed by  the  cleared  space.  Sometimes  we 
found  ourselves  hemmed  in  by  a  wall  of  jungle. 
Again  we  enjoyed  a  broad  outlook.  One  such  in 
especial  took  in  the  magnificent,  splintered,  snow- 
capped peak  of  Kenia  on  the  right,  a  tremendous 
gorge  and  rolling  forested  mountains  straight  ahead, 
and  a  great  drop  to  a  plain  with  other  and  distant 

247 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

mountains  to  the  left.  It  was  as  fine  a  panoramic 
view  as  one  could  imagine. 

Our  tents  pitched,  and  ourselves  washed  and  re- 
freshed, we  gave  audience  to  the  resident  chief,  who 
had  probably  been  waiting.  With  this  potentate 
we  conversed  affably,  after  the  usual  expectoratorial 
ceremonies.  Billy,  being  a  mere  woman,  did  not 
always  come  in  for  this;  but  nevertheless  she  main- 
tained what  she  called  her  "quarantine  gloves,"  and 
kept  them  very  handy.  We  had  standing  orders 
with  our  boys  for  basins  of  hot  water  to  be  waiting 
always  behind  our  tents.  After  the  usual  polite 
exchanges  we  informed  the  chief  of  our  needs  — 
firewood,  perhaps,  milk,  a  sheep  or  the  like.  These 
he  furnished.  When  we  left  we  made  him  a  present 
of  a  few  beads,  a  knife,  a  blanket  or  such  according 
to  the  value  of  his  contribution. 

To  me  these  encounters  were  some  of  the  most  in- 
teresting of  our  many  experiences,  for  each  man  dif- 
fered radically  from  every  other  in  his  conceptions  of 
ceremony,  in  his  ideas,  and  in  his  methods.  Our 
coming  was  a  good  deal  of  an  event,  always,  and 
each  chief,  according  to  his  temperament  and  train- 
ing, tried  to  do  things  up  properly.  And  in  that 
attempt  certain  basic  traits  of  human  nature  showed 
in  the  very  strongest  relief.  Thus  there  are  three 
points  of  view  to  take  in  running  any  spectacle: 

248 


IN  THE  JUNGLE 

that  of  the  star  performer,  the  stage  manager,  or  the 
truly  artistic.  We  encountered  well-marked  speci- 
mens of  each.  I  will  tell  you  about  them. 

The  star  performer  knew  his  stagecraft  thor- 
oughly; and  in  the  exposition  of  his  knowledge  he 
showed  incidentally  how  truly  basic  are  the  prin- 
ciples of  stagecraft  anywhere. 

We  were  seated  under  a  tree  near  the  banks  of  a 
stream  eating  our  lunch.  Before  us  appeared  two 
tall  and  slender  youths,  wreathed  in  smiles,  engaging, 
and  most  attentive  to  the  small  niceties  of  courtesy. 
We  returned  their  greeting  from  our  recumbent 
positions,  whereupon  they  made  preparation  to 
squat  down  beside  us. 

"Are  you  sultans?"  we  demanded  sternly,  "that 
you  attempt  to  sit  in  Our  Presence,"  and  we  lazil 
kicked  the  nearest. 

Not  at  all  abashed,  but  favourably  impressed  with 
our  transcendent  importance  —  as  we  intended  — 
they  leaned  gracefully  on  their  spears  and  entered 
into  conversation.  After  a  few  trifles  of  airy  persi- 
flage they  got  down  to  business. 

"This,"  said  they,  indicating  the  tiny  flat,  "is  the 
most  beautiful  place  to  camp  in  all  the  mountains." 

We  doubted  it. 

"Here  is  excellent  water." 

We  agreed  to  that. 

249 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

"And  there  is  no  more  water  for  a  long  day's 
journey." 

"You  are  liars,"  we  observed  politely. 

"And  near  is  the  village  of  our  chief,  who  is  a 
great  warrior,  and  will  bring  you  many  presents;  the 
greatest  man  in  these  parts." 

"Now  you're  getting  to  it,"  we  observed  in  Eng- 
lish; "you  want  trade."  Then  in  Swahili,  "We  shall 
march  two  hours  longer." 

After  a  few  polite  phrases  they  went  away.  We 
finished  lunch,  remounted,  and  rode  up  the  trail. 
At  the  edge  of  the  canon  we  came  to  a  wide  clearing, 
at  the  farther  side  of  which  was  evidently  the  village 
in  question.  But  the  merry  villagers,  down  to  the 
last  toto,  were  drawn  up  at  the  edge  of  the  track  in  a 
double  line  through  which  we  rode.  They  were  very 
wealthy  savages,  and  wore  it  all.  Bright  neck,  arm, 
and  leg  ornaments,  yards  and  yards  of  cowry  shells 
in  strings,  blue  beads  of  all  sizes  (blue  beads  were 
evidently  "in"),  odd  scraps  and, shapes  of  embroi- 
dered skins,  clean  shaves  and  a  beautiful  polish  char- 
acterized this  holiday  gathering.  We  made  our 
royal  progress  between  the  serried  ranks.  About 
eight  or  ten  seconds  after  we  had  passed  the  last  vil- 
lager—  just  the  proper  dramatic  pause,  you  ob- 
serve —  the  bushes  parted  and  a  splendid  straight 
springy  young  man  came  into  view  and  stepped 

250 


IN  THE  JUNGLE 

smilingly  across  the  space  that  separated  us.  And 
about  eight  or  ten  seconds  after  his  emergence  — 
again  just  the  right  dramatic  pause  —  the  bushes 
parted  again  to  give  entrance  to  four  of  the  quaint- 
est little  dolls  of  wives.  These  advanced  all  abreast, 
parted,  and  took  up  positions  two  either  side  the 
smiling  chief.  This  youth  was  evidently  in  the 
height  of  fashion,  his  hair  braided  in  a  tight  queue 
bound  with  skin,  his  ears  dangling  with  ornaments, 
heavy  necklaces  around  his  neck,  and  armlets  etc., 
ad  lib.  His  robe  was  of  fine  monkey  skin  embroi- 
ered  with  rosettes  of  beads,  and  his  spear  was  very 
long,  bright  and  keen.  He  was  tall  and  finely  built, 
carried  himself  with  a  free,  lithe  swing.  As  the 
quintette  came  to  halt,  the  villagers  fell  silent  and  our 
shauri  began. 

We  drew  up  and  dismounted.  We  all  expecto- 
rated as  gentlemen. 

"These,"  said  he  proudly,  "are  my  beebees." 

We  replied  that  they  seemed  like  excellent  beebees, 
and  politely  inquired  the  price  of  wives  thereabout, 
and  also  the  market  for  totos.  He  gave  us  to  under- 
stand that  such  superior  wives  as  these  brought 
three  cows  and  twenty  sheep  apiece,  but  that  you 
could  get  a  pretty  good  toto  for  half  a  rupee. 

"When  we  look  upon  our  women,"  he  concluded 
grandly,  "we  find  them  good;  but  when  we  look  upon 

251 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

the  white  women  they  are  as  nothing!"  He  com- 
pletely obliterated  the  poor  little  beebees  with  a 
magnificent  gesture.  They  looked  very  humble  and 
abashed.  I  was,  however,  a  bit  uncertain  as  to 
whether  this  was  intended  as  a  genuine  tribute  to 
Billy,  or  was  meant  to  console  us  for  having  only 
one  to  his  four. 

Now  observe  the  stagecraft  of  all  this:  entrance  of 
diplomats,  preliminary  conversation  introducing  the 
idea  of  the  greatness  of  N'Zahgi  (for  that  was  his 
name),  chorus  of  villagers,  and,  as  climax,  dramatic 
entrance  of  the  hero  and  heroines.  It  was  pretty 
well  done. 

Again  we  stopped  about  the  middle  of  the  after- 
noon in  an  opening  on  the  rounded  top  of  a  hill. 
While  waiting  for  the  safari  to  come  up,  Billy  wan- 
dered away  fifty  or  sixty  yards  to  sit  under  a  big  tree. 
She  did  not  stay  long.  Immediately  she  was  settled, 
a  dozen  women  and  young  girls  surrounded  her. 
They  were  almost  uproariously  good-natured,  but 
Billy  was  probably  the  first  white  woman  they  had 
ever  seen,  and  they  intended  to  make  the  most  of  her. 
Every  item  of  her  clothes  and  equipment  they  ex- 
amined minutely,  handled  and  discussed.  When  she 
told  them  with  great  dignity  to  go  away,  they  laughed 
consumedly,  fairly  tumbling  into  each  other's  arms 
with  excess  of  joy.  Billy  tried  to  gather  her  effects 

252 


'They  were  evil  looking  savages. 


<u 
u. 


IN  THE  JUNGLE 

for  a  masterly  retreat,  but  found  the  press  of  num- 
bers too  great.  At  last  she  had  to  signal  for  help. 
One  of  us  wandered  over  with  a  kiboko  with  which 
lightly  he  flicked  the  legs  of  such  damsels  as  he  could 
reach.  They  scattered  like  quail,  laughing  hilari- 
ously. Billy  was  escorted  back  to  safety. 

Shortly  after  the  Chief  and  his  Prime  Minister 
came  in.  He  was  a  little  old  gray-haired  gentleman, 
as  spry  as  a  cricket,  quite  nervous,  and  very  chatty. 
We  indicated  our  wants  to  him,  and  he  retired  after 
enunciating  many  words.  The  safari  came  in,  made 
camp.  We  had  tea  and  a  bath.  The  darkness  fell; 
and  still  no  Chief,  no  milk,  no  firewood,  no  promises 
fulfilled.  There  were  plenty  of  natives  around  camp, 
but  when  we  suggested  that  they  get  out  and  rustle 
on  our  behalf,  they  merely  laughed  good-naturedly. 
We  seriously  contemplated  turning  the  whole  lot 
out  of  camp. 

Finally  we  gave  it  up,  and  sat  down  to  our  dinner. 
It  was  now  quite  dark.  The  askaris  had  built  a 
little  campfire  out  in  front. 

Then,  far  in  the  distance  of  the  jungle's  depths, 
we  heard  a  faint  measured  chanting  as  of  many 
people  coming  nearer.  From  another  direction  this 
was  repeated.  The  two  processions  approached 
each  other;  their  paths  converged;  the  double  chant- 
ing became  a  chorus  that  grew  moment  by  moment. 

233 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

We  heard  beneath  the  wild  weird  minors  the  light 
rhythmic  stamping  of  feet,  and  the  tapping  of  sticks. 
The  procession  debouched  from  the  jungle's  edge  into 
the  circle  of  the  firelight.  Our  old  chief  led,  accom- 
panied by  a  bodyguard  in  all  the  panoply  of  war: 
ostrich  feather  circlets  enclosing  the  head  and  face, 
shields  of  bright  heraldry,  long  glittering  spears. 
These  were  followed  by  a  dozen  of  the  quaintest 
solemn  dolls  of  beebees  dressed  in  all  the  white 
cowry  shells,  beads  and  brass  the  royal  treasury  af- 
forded, very  earnest,  very  much  on  inspection,  every 
little  head  uplifted,  singing  away  just  as  hard  as 
ever  they  could.  Each  carried  a  gourd  of  milk,  a 
bunch  of  bananas,  some  sugarcane,  yams  or  the 
like.  Straight  to  the  fire  marched  the  pageant. 
Then  the  warriors  dividing  right  and  left,  drew  up 
facing  each  other  in  two  lines,  struck  their  spears  up- 
right in  the  ground,  and  stood  at  attention.  The 
quaint  brown  little  women  lined  up  to  close  the  end 
of  this  hollow  square,  of  which  our  group  was, 
roughly  speaking,  the  fourth  side.  Then  all  came  to 
attention.  The  song  now  rose  to  a  wild  and  ecstat- 
tic  minor  chanting.  The  beebees,  still  singing,  one 
by  one  cast  their  burdens  between  the  files  and  at 
our  feet  in  the  middle  of  the  hollow  square.  Then 
they  continued  their  chant,  singing  away  at  the  tops 
of  their  little  lungs,  their  eyes  and  teeth  showing, 

254 


IN  THE  JUNGLE 

their  pretty  bodies  held  rigidly  upright.  The  war- 
riors, very  erect  and  military,  stared  straight  ahead. 

And  the  chief?  Was  he  the  centre  of  the  show,  the 
important  leading  man,  to  the  contemplation  of 
whom  all  these  glories  led?  Not  at  all!  This  par- 
ticular chief  did  not  have  the  soul  of  a  leading  man, 
but  rather  the  soul  of  a  stage  manager.  Quite  for- 
getful of  himself  and  his  part  in  the  spectacle,  his 
brow  furrowed  with  anxiety,  he  was  flittering  from 
one  to  another  of  the  performers.  He  listened  care- 
fully to  each  singer  in  turn,  holding  his  hand  behind 
his  ear  to  catch  the  individual  note,  striking  one  on 
the  shoulder  in  admonition,  nodding  approval  at 
another.  He  darted  unexpectedly  across  to  scru- 
tinize a  warrior,  in  the  chance  of  catching  a  flicker 
of  the  eyelid  even.  Nary  a  flicker!  They  did  their 
stage  manager  credit,  and  stood  like  magnificent 
bronzes.  He  even  ran  across  to  peer  into  our  own 
faces  to  see  how  we  liked  it. 

With  a  sudden  crescendo  the  music  stopped. 
Involuntarily  we  broke  into  handclapping.  The 
old  boy  looked  a  bit  startled  at  this,  but  we  ex- 
plained to  him,  and  he  seemed  very  pleased.  We 
then  accepted  formally  the  heap  of  presents,  by 
touching  them  —  and  in  turn  passed  over  a  blanket, 
a  box  of  matches,  and  two  needles,  together  with 
beads  for  the  beebees.  Then  F.,  on  an  inspiration, 

255 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

produced  his  flashlight.  This  made  a  tremendous 
sensation.  The  women  tittered  and  giggled  and 
blinked  as  its  beams  were  thrown  directly  into  their 
eyes;  the  chief's  sons  grinned  and  guffawed;  the 
chief  himself  laughed  like  a  pleased  schoolboy,  and 
seemed  never  to  weary  of  the  sudden  shutting  on  and 
off  of  the  switch.  But  the  trusty  Spartan  warriors, 
standing  still  in  their  formation  behind  their  planted 
spears,  were  not  to  be  shaken.  They  glared  straight 
in  front  of  them,  even  when  we  held  the  light  within 
a  few  inches  of  their  eyes,  and  not  a  muscle  quivered! 

"It  is  wonderful!  wonderful!"  the  old  man  re- 
peated. "Many  Government  men  have  come  here, 
but  none  have  had  anything  like  that!  The  bwanas 
must  be  very  great  sultans!" 

After  the  departure  of  our  friends,  we  went  rather 
grandly  to  bed.  We  always  did  after  any  one  had 
called  us  sultans. 

But  our  prize  chief  was  an  individual  named 
M'booley.*  Our  camp  here  also  was  on  a  fine  cleared 
hilltop  between  two  streams.  After  we  had  traded 
for  a  while  with  very  friendly  and  prosperous  people 
M'booley  came  in.  He  was  young,  tall,  straight, 
with  a  beautiful  smooth  lithe  form,  and  his  face  was 
hawklike  and  cleverly  intelligent.  He  carried  him- 
self with  the  greatest  dignity  and  simplicity,  meeting 

*Pronounce  each  o  separately. 

256 


M'booley  and  two  of  his  wives. 


"They  were  dressed  in  grass  skirts  and  carried  long  shields." 


'On  the  slopes  and  in  the  bottoms  were  patches  of 
magnificent  forest." 


IN  THE  JUNGLE 

us  on  an  easy  plane  of  familiarity.  I  do  not  know 
how  I  can  better  describe  his  manner  toward  us 
than  to  compare  it  to  the  manner  the  member  of  an 
exclusive  golf  club  would  use  to  one  who  is  a  stranger, 
but  evidently  a  guest.  He  took  our  quality  for 
granted;  and  supposed  we  must  do  the  same  by 
him,  neither  acting  as  though  he  considered  us 
"great  white  men,"  nor  yet  standing  aloof  and  too 
respectful.  And  as  the  distinguishing  feature  of  all, 
he  was  absolutely  without  personal  ornament. 

Pause  for  a  moment  to  consider  what  a  real  ad- 
vance in  aesthetic  taste  that  one  little  fact  stands 
for.  All  M'booley's  attendants  were  the  giddiest 
and  gaudiest  savages  we  had  yet  seen,  with  more  col- 
obus  fur,  sleighbells,  polished  metal,  ostrich  plumes, 
and  red  paint  than  would  have  fitted  out  any 
two  other  royal  courts  of  the  jungle.  The  women 
too  were  wealthy  and  opulent  without  limit.  It 
takes  considerable  perception  among  our  civilized 
people  to  realize  that  severe  simplicity  amid  ultra 
magnificence  makes  the  most  effective  distinguishing 
of  an  individual.  If  you  do  not  believe  it,  drop  in 
at  the  next  ball  to  which  you  are  invited.  M'booley 
had  fathomed  this:  and  what  was  more  he  had  the 
strength  of  mind  to  act  on  it.  Any  savage  loves 
finery  for  its  own  sake.  His  hair  was  cut  short,  and 
shaved  away  at  the  edges  to  leave  what  looked  like 

257 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

an  ordinary  close-fitting  skull  cap.  He  wore  one 
pair  of  plain  armlets  on  his  left  upper  arm  and  small 
simple  ear-rings.  His  robe  was  black.  He  had  no 
trace  of  either  oil  or  paint,  nor  did  he  even  carry  a 
spear. 

He  greeted  us  with  good-humoured  ease,  and  in- 
quired conversationally  if  we  wanted  anything.  We 
suggested  wood  and  milk,  whereupon  still  smiling, 
he  uttered  a  few  casual  words  in  his  own  language  to 
no  one  in  particular.  There  was  no  earthly  doubt 
that  he  was  chief.  Three  of  the  most  gorgeous  and 
haughty  warriors  ran  out  of  camp.  Shortly  long 
files  of  women  came  in  bringing  loads  of  firewood; 
and  others  carrying  bananas,  yams,  sugarcane  and 
a  sheep.  Truly  M'booley  did  things  on  a  princely 
scale.  We  thanked  him.  He  accepted  the  thanks 
with  a  casual  smile,  waved  his  hand  and  went  on  to 
talk  of  something  else.  In  due  order  our  M'ganga 
brought  up  one  of  our  best  trade  blankets,  to  which 
we  added  a  half  dozen  boxes  of  matches  and  a  razor. 

Now  into  camp  filed  a  small  procession:  four 
women,  four  children,  and  two  young  men.  These 
advanced  to  where  M'booley  was  standing  smoking 
with  great  satisfaction  one  of  B's  tailor-made  ciga- 
rettes. M'booley  advanced  ten  feet  to  meet  them,  and 
brought  them  up  to  introduce  them  one  by  one  in 
the  most  formal  fashion.  These  were  of  course  his 

258 


IN  THE  JUNGLE 

family,  and  we  had  to  confess  that  they  "saw" 
N'Zahgi's  outfit  of  ornaments  and  "raised"  him 
beyond  the  ceiling.  We  gave  them  each  in  turn  the 
handshake  of  ceremony,  first  with  the  palms  as  we 
do  it,  and  then  each  grasping  the  other's  upright 
thumb.  The  "little  chiefs"  were  proud,  aristocratic 
little  fellows,  holding  themselves  very  straight  and 
solemn.  I  think  one  would  have  known  them  for 
royalty  anywhere. 

It  was  quite  a  social  occasion.  None  of  our  guests 
was  in  the  least  ill  at  ease;  in  fact,  the  young  ladies 
were  quite  coy  and  flirtatious.  We  had  a  great 
many  jokes.  Each  of  the  little  ladies  received  a 
handful  of  prevailing  beads.  M'booley  smiled 
benignly  at  these  delightful  femininities.  After 
a  time  he  led  us  to  the  edge  of  the  hill  and  showed  us 
his  houses  across  the  canon,  perched  on  a  flat  about 
halfway  up  the  wall.  They  were  of  the  usual  grass- 
thatched  construction,  but  rather  larger  and  neater 
than  most.  Examining  them  through  the  glasses 
we  saw  that  a  little  stream  had  been  diverted  to  flow 
through  the  front  yard.  M'booley  waved  his  hand 
abroad  and  gave  us  to  understand  that  he  considered 
the  outlook  worth  looking  at.  It  was ;  but  an  appre- 
ciation of  that  fact  is  foreign  to  the  average  native. 
Next  morning,  when  we  rode  by  very  early,  we  found 
the  little  flat  most  attractively  cleared  and  arranged, 

259 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

M'booley  was  out  to  shake  us  by  the  hand  in  fare- 
well, shivering  in  the  cold  of  dawn.  The  flirtatious 
and  spoiled  little  beauties  were  not  in  evidence. 

One  day  after  two  very  deep  canons  we  emerged 
from  the  forest  jungle  into  an  up  and  down  country 
of  high  jungle  bush-brush.  From  the  top  of  a  ridge 
it  looked  a  good  deal  like  a  northern  cut-over  pine 
country  grown  up  very  heavily  to  blackberry  vines; 
although,  of  course,  when  we  came  nearer,  the  "black- 
berry vines"  proved  to  be  ten  or  twenty  feet  high. 
This  was  a  district  of  which  Home  had  warned  us. 
The  natives  herein  were  reported  restless  and  semi- 
hostile;  and  in  fact  had  never  been  friendly.  They 
probably  needed  the  demonstration  most  native 
tribes  seem  to  require  before  they  are  content  to 
settle  down  and  be  happy.  At  any  rate  safaris  were 
not  permitted  in  their  district;  and  we  ourselves  were 
allowed  to  go  through  merely  because  we  were  a 
large  party,  did  not  intend  to  linger,  and  had  a  good 
reputation  with  natives. 

It  is  very  curious  how  abruptly,  in  Central 
Africa,  one  passes  from  one  condition  to  an- 
other, from  one  tribe  or  race  to  the  next.  Some" 
times,  as  in  the  present  case,  it  is  the  traverr 
sing  of  a  deep  canon;  at  others  the  simple  cross- 
ing of  a  tiny  brook  is  enough.  Moreover  the 
line  of  demarcation  is  clearly  defined,  as  bow 


"In  fact,  the  young  ladies  were  quite  coy  and  flirtatious." 


Totos 


"  The  savages  commenced  to  drift  in,  very  haughty  and 
arrogant.     They  were  fully  armed." 


IN  THE  JUNGLE 

daries    elsewhere    are   never  defined   save   in  war- 
time. 

Thus  we  smiled  our  good-bye  to  a  friendly  numer- 
ous people,  descended  a  hill,  and  ascended  another 
into  a  deserted  track.  After  a  half  mile  we  came 
unexpectedly  on  to  two  men  carrying  each  a  load  of 
reeds.  These  they  abandoned  and  fled  up  the  hill- 
side through  the  jungle,  in  spite  of  our  shouted  as- 
surances. A  moment  later  they  reappeared  at  some 
distance  above  us,  each  with  a  spear  he  had  snatched 
from  somewhere;  they  were  unarmed  when  we  first 
caught  sight  of  them.  Examined  through  the 
glasses  they  proved  to  be  sullen  looking  men,  copper 
coloured,  but  broad  across  the  cheekbones,  broad  in 
the  forehead,  more  decidedly  of  the  negro  type  than 
our  late  hosts. 

Aside  from  these  two  men  we  travelled  through 
an  apparently  deserted  jungle.  I  suspect,  however, 
that  we  were  probably  well  watched;  for  when  we 
stopped  for  noon  we  heard  the  gunbearers  beyond 
the  screen  of  leaves  talking  to  some  one.  On 
learning  from  our  boys  that  these  were  some  of 
the  shenzis,  we  told  them  to  bring  the  savages 
in  for  a  shauri;  but  in  this  our  men  failed, 
nor  could  they  themselves  get  nearer  than  fifty 
yards  or  so  to  the  wild  people.  So  until  even- 
ing our  impression  remained  that  of  two  distant 

261 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

men,  and  the  indistinct  sound  of  voices  behind  a 
leafy  screen. 

We  made  camp  comparatively  early  in  a  wide 
open  space  surrounded  by  low  forest.  Almost  im- 
mediately then  the  savages  commenced  to  drift 
in,  very  haughty  and  arrogant.  They  were  fully 
armed.  Besides  the  spear  and  decorated  shield,  some 
of  them  carried  the  curious  small  grass  spears. 
These  are  used  to  stab  upward  from  below,  the 
wielder  lying  flat  in  the  grass.  Some  of  these  men 
were  fantastically  painted  with  a  groundwork  of 
ochre,  on  which  had  been  drawn  intricate  wavy  de- 
signs on  the  legs,  like  stockings,  and  varied  stripes 
across  the  face.  One  particularly  ingenious  in- 
dividual, stark  naked,  had  outlined  roughly  his 
entire  skeleton!  He  was  a  gruesome  object!  They 
stalked  here  and  there  through  the  camp,  looking  on 
our  men  and  their  activities  with  a  lofty  and  silent 
contempt. 

You  may  be  sure  we  had  our  arrangements, 
though  they  did  not  appear  on  the  surface.  The 
askaris,  or  native  soldiers,  were  posted  here  and  there 
with  their  muskets;  the  gunbearers  also  kept  our 
spare  weapons  by  them.  The  askaris  could  not  hit 
a  barn,  but  they  could  make  a  noise.  The  gun- 
bearers  were  fair  shots. 

Of  course  the  chief  and  his  prime  minister  came 

262 


IN  THE  JUNGLE 

in.  They  were  evil-looking  savages.  To  them  we 
paid  not  the  slightest  attention,  but  went  about  our 
usual  business  as  though  they  did  not  exist.  At  the 
end  of  an  hour  they  of  their  own  initiative  greeted 
us.  We  did  not  hear  them.  Half  an  hour  later  they 
disappeared,  to  return  after  an  interval,  followed  by 
a  string  of  young  men  bearing  firewood.  Evidently 
our  bearing  had  impressed  them,  as  we  had  intended. 
We  then  unbent  far  enough  to  recognize  them,  car- 
ried on  a  formal  conversation  for  a  few  moments, 
gave  them  adequate  presents  and  dismissed  them. 
Then  we  ordered  the  askaris  to  clear  camp  and  to 
keep  it  clear.  No  women  had  appeared.  Even 
the  gifts  of  firewood  had  been  carried  by  men,  a 
most  unusual  proceeding. 

As  soon  as  dark  fell  the  drums  began  roaring  in 
the  forest  all  about  our  clearing,  and  the  chanting  to 
rise.  We  instructed  our  men  to  shoot  first  and  in- 
quire afterward,  if  a  shenzi  so  much  as  showed  him- 
self in  the  clearing.  This  was  not  as  bad  as  it 
sounded;  the  shenzi  stood  in  no  immediate  danger. 
Then  we  turned  in  to  a  sleep  rather  light  and  broken 
by  uncertainty.  I  do  not  think  we  were  in  any  im- 
mediate danger  of  a  considered  attack,  for  these 
people  were  not  openly  hostile;  but  there  was  al- 
ways a  chance  that  the  savages  might  by  their  drum 
pounding  and  dancing  work  themselves  into  a 

263 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

frenzy.  Then  we  might  have  to  do  a  little  rapid 
shooting.  Not  for  one  instant  the  whole  night  long 
did  those  misguided  savages  cease  their  howling 
and  dancing.  At  any  rate  we  cost  them  a  night's 
sleep. 

Next  morning  we  took  up  our  march  through  the 
deserted  tracks  once  more.  Not  a  sign  of  human 
life  did  we  encounter.  About  ten  o'clock  we  climbed 
down  a  tremendous  gash  of  a  box  canon  with  pre- 
cipitous cliffs.  From  below  we  looked  back  to  see, 
perched  high  against  the  skyline,  the  motionless 
figures  of  many  savages  watching  us  from  the  crags. 
So  we  had  had  company  after  all,  and  we  had  not 
known  it.  This  canon  proved  to  be  the  boundary 
line.  With  the  same  abruptness  we  passed  again 
into  friendly  country. 

(d)    OUT   THE    OTHER    SIDE 

We  left  the  jungle  finally  when  we  turned  on  a  long 
angle  away  from  Kenia.  At  first  the  open  country 
of  the  foothills  was  closely  cultivated  with  fields  of 
rape  and  maize.  We  saw  some  of  the  people  break- 
ing new  soil  by  means  of  long  pointed  sticks.  The 
plowmen  quite  simply  inserted  the  pointed  end  in 
the  ground  and  pried.  It  was  very  slow  hard  work. 
In  other  fields  the  grain  stood  high  and  good.  From 
among  the  stalks,  as  from  a  miniature  jungle,  the 

264 


IN  THE  JUNGLE 

little  naked  totos  stared  out,  and  the  good-natured 
women  smiled  at  us.  The  magnificent  peak  of 
Kenia  had  vnow  shaken  itself  free  of  the  forests.  On 
its  snow  the  sunrises  and  sunsets  kindled  their 
fires.  The  flames  of  grass  fires,  too,  could  plainly 
be  made  out,  incredible  distances  away,  and  at 
daytime,  through  the  reek,  were  fascinating  sug- 
gestions of  distant  rivers,  plains,  jungles,  and 
hills.  You  see,  we  were  still  practically  on  the 
wide  slope  of  Kenia's  base,  though  the  peak  was 
many  days  away,  and  so  could  look  out  over  wide 
country. 

The  last  half  day  of  this  we  wandered  literally  in 
a  rape  field.  The  stalks  were  quite  above  our  heads, 
and  we  could  see  but  a  few  yards  in  any  direction. 
In  addition  the  track  had  become  a  footpath  not 
over  two  feet  wide.  We  could  occasionally  look 
back  to  catch  glimpses  of  a  pack  or  so  bobbing  along 
on  a  porter's  head.  From  our  own  path  hundreds 
of  other  paths  branched;  we  were  continually  taking 
the  wrong  fork  and  moving  back  to  set  the  safari 
right  before  it  could  do  likewise.  This  we  did  by 
drawing  a  deep  double  line  in  the  earth  across  the 
wrong  trail.  Then  we  hustled  on  ahead  to  pioneer 
the  way  a  little  farther;  our  difficulties  were  further 
complicated  by  the  fact  that  we  had  sent  our  horses 
back  to  Nairobi  for  fear  of  the  tsetse  fly,  so  we  could 

265 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

not  see  out  above  the  corn.  All  we  knew  was  that 
we  ought  to  go  down  hill. 

At  the  ends  of  some  of  our  false  trails  we  came 
upon  fascinating  little  settlements:  groups  of  houses 
inside  brush  enclosures,  with  low  wooden  gateways 
beneath  which  we  had  to  stoop  to  enter.  Within 
were  groups  of  beehive  houses  with  small  naked 
children  and  perhaps  an  old  woman  or  old  man 
seated  cross-legged  under  a  sort  of  veranda.  From 
them  we  obtained  new  —  and  confusing  directions. 

After  three  o'clock  we  came  finally  out  on  the  edge 
of  a  cliff  fifty  or  sixty  feet  high,  below  which  lay 
uncultivated  bottom  lands  like  a  great  meadow  and 
a  little  meandering  stream.  We  descended  the  cliff, 
and  camped  by  the  meandering  stream. 

By  this  time  we  were  fairly  tired  from  long  walk- 
ing in  the  heat,  and  so  were  content  to  sit  down 
under  our  tent-fly  before  our  little  table,  and  let 
Mahomet  bring  us  sparklets  and  lime  juice.  Be- 
fore us  was  the  flat  of  a  meadow  below  the  cliffs, 
and  the  cliffs  themselves.  Just  below  the  rise  lay  a 
single  patch  of  standing  rape  not  over  two  acres  in 
extent,  the  only  sign  of  human  life.  It  was  as 
though  this  little  bit  had  overflowed  from  the  count- 
less millions  on  the  plateau  above.  Beyond  it  arose 
a  thin  signal  of  smoke. 

We  sipped  our  lime  juice  and  rested.  Soon  our 

266 


attention  was  attracted  by  the  peculiar  actions  of  a 
big  flock  of  very  white  birds.  They  rose  suddenly 
from  one  side  of  the  tiny  rape  field,  wheeled  and 
swirle"d  like  leaves  in  the  wind,  and  dropped  down 
suddenly  on  the  other  side  the  patch.  After  a  few 
moments  they  repeated  the  performance.  The  sun 
caught  the  dazzling  white  of  their  plumage.  At  first 
we  speculated  on  what  they  might  be,  then  on  what 
they  were  doing,  to  behave  in  so  peculiar  a  manner. 
The  lime  juice  and  the  armchair  began  to  get  in  their 
recuperative  work.  Somehow  the  distance  across 
that  flat  did  not  seem  quite  as  tremendous  as  at 
first.  Finally  I  picked  up  the  shotgun  and  saun- 
tered across  to  investigate.  The  cause  of  action  I 
soon  determined.  The  owner  of  that  rape  field 
turned  out  to  be  an  emaciated,  gray-haired  but  spry 
old  savage.  He  was  armed  with  a  spear;  and  at  the 
moment  his  chief  business  in  life  seemed  to  be  chasing 
a  large  flock  of  white  birds  off  his  grain.  Since  he 
had  no  assistance,  and  since  the  birds  held  his  spear 
in  justifiable  contempt  as  a  fowling  piece,  he  was 
getting  much  exercise  and  few  results.  The  birds 
gave  way  before  his  direct  charge,  flopped  over  to 
the  other  side,  and  continued  their  meal.  They  had 
already  occasioned  considerable  damage;  the  rape 
heads  were  bent  and  destroyed  for  a  space  of  perhaps 
ten  feet  from  the  outer  edge  of  the  field.  As  this 

267 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

grain  probably  constituted  the  old  man's  food  supply 
for  a  season,  I  did  not  wonder  at  the  vehemence  with 
which  he  shook  his  spear  at  his  enemies,  nor  the  ap- 
parent flavour  of  his  language,  though  I  did  marvel 
at  his  physical  endurance.  As  for  the  birds,  they 
had  become  cynical  and  impudent;  they  barely  flut- 
tered out  of  the  way. 

I  halted  the  old  gentleman  and  hastened  to  ex- 
plain that  I  was  neither  a  pirate,  a  robber,  nor  an 
oppressor  of  the  poor.  This  as  counter-check  to  his 
tendency  to  flee,  leaving  me  in  sole  charge.  He  un- 
derstood a  little  Swahili,  and  talked  a  few  words  of 
something  he  intended  for  that  language.  By  means 
of  our  mutual  accomplishment  in  that  tongue,  and 
through  a  more  efficient  sign  language,  I  got  him 
to  understand  the  plan  of  campaign.  It  was  very 
simple.  I  squatted  down  inside  the  rape,  while  he 
went  around  the  other  side  to  scare  them  up. 

The  white  birds  uttered  their  peculiarly  derisive 
cackle  at  the  old  man  and  flapped  over  to  my  side. 
Then  they  were  certainly  an  astonished  lot  of  birds. 
I  gave  them  both  barrels  and  dropped  a  pair;  got 
two  more  shots  as  they  swung  over  me  and  dropped 
another  pair,  and  brought  down  a  straggling  single  as 
a  grand  finale.  The  flock,  with  shrill,  derogatory 
remarks,  flew  in  an  airline  straight  away.  They 
never  deviated,  as  far  as  I  could  follow  them  with 

268 


"These  chickens  rode  atop  the  loads." 


The  Tana  River. 


IN  THE  JUNGLE 

the  eye.  Even  after  they  had  apparently  disap- 
peared, I  could  catch  an  occasional  flash  of  white  in 
the  sun. 

Now  the  old  gentleman  came  whooping  around 
with  long,  undignified  bounds  to  fall  on  his  face  and 
seize  my  foot  in  an  excess  of  gratitude.  He  rose  and 
capered  about,  he  rushed  out  and  gathered  in  the 
slain  one  by  one  and  laid  them  in  a  pile  at  my  feet. 
Then  he  danced  a  jig-step  around  them  and  reviled 
them,  and  fell  on  his  face  once  more,  repeating  the 
word  "Bwana!  bwana!  bwana!"  over  and  over  — 
"Master!  master!  master!"  We  returned  to  camp 
together,  the  old  gentleman  carrying  the  birds,  and 
capering  about  like  a  small  boy,  pouring  forth  a  flood 
of  his  sort  of  Swahili,  of  which  I  could  understand 
only  a  word  here  and  there.  Memba  Sasa,  very 
dignified  and  scornful  of  such  performances,  met  us 
halfway  and  took  my  gun.  He  seemed  to  be  able 
to  understand  the  old  fellow's  brand  of  Swahili,  and 
said  it  over  again  in  a  brand  I  could  understand. 
From  it  I  gathered  that  I  was  called  a  marvellously 
great  sultan,  a  protector  of  the  poor,  and  other 
Arabian  Nights  titles. 

The  birds  proved  to  be  white  egrets.  Now  at 
home  I  am  strongly  against  the  killing  of  these 
creatures,  and  have  so  expressed  myself  on  many  oc- 
casions. But,  looking  from  the  beautiful  white  plu- 

269 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

mage  of  these  villanous  mauraders,  to  the  wrinkled 
countenance  of  the  grateful  weary  old  savage,  I  could 
not  fan  a  spark  of  regret.  And  from  the  straight  line 
of  their  retreating  flight  I  like  to  think  that  the  rest 
of  the  flock  never  came  back,  but  took  their  toll 
from  the  wider  fields  of  the  plateau  above. 

Next  day  we  reentered  the  game-haunted  wilder- 
ness, nor  did  we  see  any  more  native  villages  until 
many  weeks  later  we  came  into  the  country  of  the 
Wakamba. 


270 


XIX 

THE  TANA  RIVER 

OUR  first  sight  of  the  Tana  River  was  from  the 
top  of  a  bluff.  It  flowed  below  us  a  hundred 
feet,  bending  at  a  sharp  elbow  against  the  cliff  on 
which  we  stood.  Out  of  the  jungle  it  crept  sluggishly 
and  into  the  jungle  it  crept  again,  brown,  slow,  viscid, 
suggestive  of  the  fevers  and  the  lurking  beasts  by 
which,  indeed,  it  was  haunted.  From  our  elevation 
we  could  follow  its  course  by  the  jungle  that  grew 
along  its  banks.  At  first  this  was  intermittent,  leav- 
ing thin  or  even  open  spaces  at  intervals,  but  lower 
down  it  extended  away  unbroken  and  very  tall.  The 
trees  were  many  of  them  beginning  to  come  into 
flower. 

Either  side  the  jungle  were  rolling  hills.  Those 
to  the  left  made  up  to  the  tremendous  slopes  of 
Kenia.  Those  to  the  right  ended  finally  in  a  low 
broken  range  many  miles  away  called  the  Ithanga 
Hills.  The  country  gave  one  the  impression  of  being 
clothed  with  small  trees;  although  here  and  there  this 
growth  gave  space  to  wide  grassy  plains.  Later  we 

271 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

discovered  that  the  forest  was  more  apparent  than 
real.  The  small  trees,  even  where  continuous,  were 
sparse  enough  to  permit  free  walking  in  all  directions, 
and  open  enough  to  allow  clear  sight  for  a  hundred 
yards  or  so.  Furthermore,  the  shallow  wide  valleys 
between  the  hills  were  almost  invariably  treeless  and 
grown  to  very  high  thick  grass. 

Thus  the  course  of  the  Tana  possessed  advan- 
tages to  such  as  we.  By  following  in  general  the 
course  of  the  stream  we  were  always  certain  of  wood 
and  water.  The  river  itself  was  full  of  fish  —  not  to 
speak  of  hundreds  of  crocodiles  and  hippopotamuses. 
The  thick  river  jungle  gave  cover  to  such  animals  as 
the  bushbuck,  leopard,  the  beautiful  colobus,  some 
of  the  tiny  antelope,  waterbuck,  buffalo  and  rhinoc- 
eros. Among  the  thorn  and  acacia  trees  of  the 
hillsides  one  was  certain  of  impalla,  eland,  diks-diks, 
and  giraffes.  In  the  grass  bottoms  were  lions,  rhinoc- 
eroses, a  half  dozen  varieties  of  buck,  and  thousands 
and  thousands  of  game  birds  such  as  guinea  fowl 
and  grouse.  On  the  plains  fed  zebra,  hartebeeste, 
wart-hog,  ostriches,  and  several  species  of  the  smaller 
antelope.  As  a  sportsman's  paradise  this  region 
would  be  hard  to  beat. 

We  were  now  afoot.  The  dreaded  tsetse  fly 
abounded  here,  and  we  had  sent  our  horses  in  via 
Fort  Hall.  F.  had  accompanied  them,  and  hoped  to 

272 


CJ 


PQ 


o 
o 
o 

;- 
CJ 

< 


THE  TANA  RIVER 

rejoin  us  in  a  few  days  or  weeks  with  tougher  and 
less  valuable  mules.  Pending  his  return  we  moved 
on  leisurely,  camping  long  at  one  spot,  marching 
short  days,  searching  the  country  far  and  near  for 
the  special  trophies  of  which  we  stood  in  need. 

It  was  great  fun.  Generally  we  hunted  each  in  his 
own  direction  and  according  to  his  own  ideas.  The 
jungle  along  the  river,  while  not  the  most  prolific 
in  trophies,  was  by  all  odds  the  most  interesting.  It 
was  very  dense,  very  hot,  and  very  shady.  Often  a 
thorn  thicket  would  fling  itself  from  the  hills  right 
across  to  the  water's  edge,  absolutely  and  hopelessly 
impenetrable  save  by  way  of  the  rhinoceros  tracks. 
Along  these  then  we  would  slip,  bent  double,  very 
quietly  and  gingerly,  keeping  a  sharp  lookout  for 
the  rightful  owners  of  the  trail.  Again  we  would 
wander  among  lofty  trees  through  the  tops  of  which 
the  sun  flickered  on  festooned  serpentlike  vines. 
Every  once  in  a  while  we  managed  a  glimpse  of  the 
sullen  oily  river  through  the  dense  leaf  screen  on  its 
banks.  The  water  looked  thick  as  syrup,  of  a  deadly 
menacing  green.  Sometimes  we  saw  a  loathsome  croc- 
odile lying  with  his  nose  just  out  of  water,  or  heard 
the  snorting  blow  of  a  hippopotamus  coming  up 
for  air.  Then  the  thicket  forced  us  inland  again. 
We  stepped  very  slowly,  very  alertly,  our  ears 
cocked  for  the  faintest  sound,  our  eyes  roving. 

273 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

Generally,  of  course,  the  creatures  of  the  jungle  saw 
us  first.  We  became  aware  of  them  by  a  crash  or  a 
rustling  or  a  scamper.  Then  we  stood  stock  still, 
listening  with  all  our  ears  for  some  sound  distin- 
guishing to  the  species.  Thus  I  came  to  recognize 
the  queer  barking  note  of  the  bushbuck,  for  example; 
and  to  realize  how  profane  and  vulgar  that  graceful 
and  beautiful  creature,  the  impalla,  can  be  when  he 
forgets  himself.  As  for  the  rhinoceros,  he  does  not 
care  how  much  noise  he  makes,  nor  how  badly  he 
scares  you. 

Personally,  I  liked  very  well  to  circle  out  in  the 
more  open  country  until  about  three  o'clock,  then  to 
enter  the  river  jungle  and  work  my  way  slowly  back 
toward  camp.  At  that  time  of  day  the  shadows  were 
lengthening,  the  birds  and  animals  were  beginning 
to  stir  about.  In  the  cooling  nether  world  of  shadow 
we  slipped  silently  from  thicket  to  thicket,  from  tree 
to  tree;  and  the  jungle  people  fled  from  us,  or  with- 
drew, or  gazed  curiously,  or  cursed  us  as  their  dis- 
positions varied. 

While  thus  returning  one  evening  I  saw  my  first 
colobus.  He  was  swinging  rapidly  from  one  tree 
to  another,  his  long  black  and  white  fur  shining 
against  the  sun.  I  wanted  him  very  much,  and 
promptly  let  drive  at  him  with  the  405  Winchester. 
I  always  carried  this  heavier  weapon  in  the  dense  jun- 

274 


THE  TANA  RIVER 

gle.  Of  course  I  missed  him,  but  the  roar  of  the  shot 
so  surprised  him  that  he  came  to  a  stand.  Memba 
Sasa  passed  me  the  Springfield,  and  I  managed  to  get 
him  in  the  head.  At  the  shot  another  flashed  into 
view,  high  up  in  the  top  of  a  tree.  Again  I  aimed 
and  fired.  The  beast  let  go  and  fell  like  a  plummet. 
"Good  shot,"  said  I  to  myself.  Fifty  feet  down 
the  colobus  seized  a  limb  and  went  skipping  away 
through  the  branches  as  lively  as  ever.  In  a  moment 
he  stopped  to  look  back,  and  by  good  luck  I  landed 
him  through  the  body.  When  we  retrieved  him 
we  found  that  the  first  shot  had  not  hit  him  at  all ! 

At  the  time  I  thought  he  must  have  been  fright- 
ened into  falling;  but  many  subsequent  experiences 
showed  me  that  this  sheer  let-go-all-holds  drop  is 
characteristic  of  the  colobus  and  his  mode  of  pro- 
gression. He  rarely,  as  far  as  my  observation  goes, 
leaps  out  and  across  as  do  the  ordinary  monkeys,  but 
prefers  to  progress  by  a  series  of  slanting  ascents 
followed  by  breath-taking  straight  drops  to  lower 
levels.  When  closely  pressed  from  beneath,  he  will 
go  as  high  as  he  can,  and  will  then  conceal  himself 
in  the  thick  leaves. 

B.  and  I  procured  our  desired  number  of  colobus 
by  taking  advantage  of  this  habit  —  as  soon  as  we 
had  learned  it.  Shooting  the  beasts  with  our  rifles 
we  soon  found  to  be  not  only  very  difficult,  but  also 

275 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

destructive  of  the  skins.  On  the  other  hand,  a  man 
could  not,  save  by  sheer  good  fortune,  rely  on  stalk- 
ing near  enough  to  use  a  shotgun.  Therefore  we 
evolved  a  method  productive  of  the  maximum  noise, 
row,  barked  shins,  thorn  wounds,  tumbles,  bruises 
—  and  colobus!  It  was  very  simple.  We  took 
about  twenty  boys  into  the  jungle  with  us,  and  as 
soon  as  we  caught  sight  of  a  colobus  we  chased  him 
madly.  That  was  all  there  was  to  it. 

And  yet  this  method,  simple  apparently  to  the 
point  of  imbecility,  had  considerable  logic  back  of  it 
after  all;  for  after  a  time  somebody  managed  to  get 
underneath  that  colobus  when  he  was  at  the  top  of  a 
tree.  Then  the  beast  would  hide. 

Consider  then  a  tumbling  riotous  mob  careering 
through  the  jungle  as  fast  as  the  jungle  would  let  it, 
slipping,  stumbling,  falling  flat,  getting  tangled 
hopelessly,  disentangling  with  profane  remarks, 
falling  behind  and  catching  up  again,  everybody 
yelling  and  shrieking.  Ahead  of  us  we  caught 
glimpses  of  the  sleek  bounding  black  and  white 
creature,  running  up  the  long  slanting  limbs,  and 
dropping  like  a  plummet  into  the  lower  branches  of 
the  next  tree.  We  white  men  never  could  keep  up 
with  the  best  of  our  men  at  this  sort  of  work,  although 
in  the  open  country  I  could  hold  them  well  enough. 
We  could  sec  them  dashing  through  the  thick  cover 

276 


THE  TANA  RIVER 

at  a  great  rate  of  speed  far  ahead  of  us.  After  an 
interval  came  a  great  shout  in  chorus.  By  this  we 
knew  that  the  quarry  had  been  definitely  brought 
to  a  stand.  Arriving  at  the  spot  we  craned  our  heads 
backward,  and  proceeded  to  get  a  crick  in  the  neck 
trying  to  make  out  invisible  colobus  in  the  very  tops 
of  the  trees  above  us.  For  gaudily  marked  beasts 
the  colobus  were  extraordinarily  difficult  to  see. 
This  was  in  no  sense  owing  to  any  far-fetched  appli- 
cation of  protective  colouration;  but  to  the  remark- 
able skill  the  animals  possessed  in  concealing  them- 
selves behind  apparently  the  scantiest  and  most 
inadequate  cover.  Fortunately  for  us  our  boys' 
ability  to  see  them  was  equally  remarkable.  Indeed, 
the  most  difficult  part  of  their  task  was  to  point  the 
game  out  to  us.  We  squinted,  and  changed  posi- 
tion, and  tried  hard  to  follow  directions  eagerly 
proffered  by  a  dozen  of  the  men.  Finally  one  of  us 
would,  by  the  aid  of  six  power-glasses,  make  out,  or 
guess  at  a  small  tuft  of  white  or  black  hair  showing 
beyond  the  concealment  of  a  bunch  of  leaves.  We 
would  unlimber  the  shotgun  and  send  a  charge  of 
BB  into  that  bunch.  Then  down  would  plump 
the  game,  to  the  huge  and  vociferous  delight  of 
all  the  boys.  Or,  as  occasionally  happened, 
the  shot  was  followed  merely  by  a  shower  of 
leaves  and  a  chorus  of  expostulations  indicating 

277 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

that  we  had  mistaken  the  place,  and  had  fired  into 
empty  air. 

In  this  manner  we  gathered  the  twelve  we  required 
between  us.  At  noon  we  sat  under  the  bank,  with 
the  tangled  roots  of  trees  above  us,  and  the  smooth 
oily  river  slipping  by.  You  may  be  sure  we  always 
selected  a  spot  protected  by  very  shoal  water,  for 
the  crocodiles  were  numerous.  I  always  shot  these 
loathsome  creatures  whenever  I  got  a  chance,  and 
whenever  the  sound  of  a  shot  would  not  alarm  more 
valuable  game.  Generally  they  were  to  be  seen  in 
midstream,  just  the  tip  of  their  snouts  above  water, 
and  extraordinarily  like  anything  but  crocodiles. 
Often  it  took  several  close  scrutinies  through  the 
glass  to  determine  the  brutes.  This  required  rather 
nice  shooting.  More  rarely  we  managed  to  see  them 
on  the  banks,  or  only  half  submerged.  In  this  posi- 
tion, too,  they  were  all  but  undistinguishable  as 
living  creatures.  I  think  this  is  perhaps  because  of 
their  complete  immobility.  The  creatures  of  the 
woods,  standing  quite'  still,  are  difficult  enough  to 
see;  but  I  have  a  notion  that  the  eye,  unknown  to 
itself,  catches  the  sum  total  of  little  flexings  of  the 
muscles,  movements  of  the  skin,  winkings,  even  the 
play  of  wind  and  light  in  the  hair  of  the  coat,  all  of 
which,  while  impossible  of  analysis,  together  relieve 
the  appearance  of  dead  inertia.  The  vitality  of  a 

278 


THE  TANA  RIVER 

creature  like  the  crocodile,  however,  seems  to  have 
withdrawn  into  the  inner  recesses  of  its  being.  It 
lies  like  a  log  of  wood,  and  for  a  log  of  wood  it  is 
mistaken. 

Nevertheless  the  crocodile  has  stored  in  it  some- 
where a  fearful  vitality.  The  swiftness  of  its  move- 
ments when  seizing  prey  is  most  astonishing;  a  swirl 
of  water,  the  sweep  of  a  powerful  tail,  and  the  unfor- 
tunate victim  has  disappeared.  For  this  reason  it  is 
especially  dangerous  to  approach  the  actual  edge  of 
any  of  the  great  rivers,  unless  the  water  is  so  shallow 
that  the  crocodile  could  not  possibly  approach  under 
cover;  as  is  its  cheerful  habit.  We  had  considerable 
difficulty  in  impressing  this  elementary  truth  on  our 
hill-bred  totos  until  one  day,  hearing  wild  shrieks 
from  the  direction  of  the  river,  I  rushed  down  to 
find  the  lot  huddled  together  in  the  very  middle  of  a 
sand  spit  that  reached  well  out  into  the  stream. 
Inquiry  developed  that  while  paddling  in  the  shal- 
lows they  had  been  surprised  by  the  sudden  appear- 
ance of  an  ugly  snout  and  well  drenched  by  the  sweep 
of  an  eager  tail.  The  stroke  fortunately  missed. 
We  stilled  the  tumult,  sat  down  quietly  to  wait,  and 
at  the  end  of  ten  minutes  had  the  satisfaction  of 
abating  that  croc. 

Generally  we  killed  the  brutes  where  we  found 
them  and  allowed  them  to  drift  away  with  the  cur- 

270 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

rent.  Occasionally  however  we  wanted  a  piece  of 
hide,  and  then  tried  to  retrieve  them.  One  such 
occasion  showed  very  vividly  the  tenacity  of  life 
and  the  primitive  nervous  systems  of  these  great 
saurians. 

I  discovered  the  beast,  head  out  of  water,  in  a 
reasonable  sized  pool  below  which  were  shallow 
rapids.  My  Springfield  bullet  hit  him  fair,  where- 
upon he  stood  square  on  his  head  and  waved  his  tail 
in  the  air,  rolled  over  three  or  four  times,  thrashed 
the  water,  and  disappeared.  After  waiting  a  while 
we  moved  on  downstream.  Returning  four  hours 
later  I  sneaked  up  quietly.  There  the  crocodile  lay, 
sunning  himself  on  the  sand  bank.  I  supposed  he 
must  be  dead;  but  when  I  accidentally  broke  a  twig, 
he  immediately  commenced  to  slide  off  into  the  water. 
Thereupon  I  stopped  him  with  ^  bullet  in  the  spine. 
The  first  shot  had  smashed  a  hole  in  his  head,  just 
behind  the  eye,  about  the  size  of  an  ordinary  coffee 
cup.  In  spite  of  this  wound,  which  would  have  been 
instantly  fatal  to  any  warm-blooded  animal,  the 
creature  was  so  little  affected  that  it  actually  re- 
acted to  a  slight  noise  made  at  some  distance  from 
where  it  lay.  Of  course  the  wound  would  probably 
have  been  fatal  in  the  long  run. 

The  best  spot  to  shoot  at,  indeed,  is  not  the  head, 
but  the  spine  immediately  back  of  the  head. 

280 


THE  TANA  RIVER 

These  brutes  are  exceedingly  powerful.  They 
are  capable  of  taking  down  horses  and  cattle,  with 
no  particular  effort.  This  I  know  from  my  own 
observation.  Mr.  Fleischman,  however,  was  privi- 
leged to  see  the  wonderful  sight  of  the  capture  and 
destruction  of  a  full-grown  rhinoceros  by  a  crocodile. 
The  photographs  he  took  of  this  most  extraordinary 
affair  leave  no  room  for  doubt.  Crossing  a  stream 
was  always  a  matter  of  concern  to  us.  The  boys 
beat  the  surface  of  the  water  vigorously  with  their 
safari  sticks.  On  occasion  we  have  even  let  loose  a 
few  heavy  bullets  to  stir  up  the  pool  before  ventur- 
ing in. 

A  steep  climb  through  thorn  and  brush  would 
always  extricate  us  from  the  river  jungle  when  we 
became  tired  of  it.  Then  we  found  ourselves  in  a 
continuous  but  scattered  growth  of  small  trees. 
Between  the  trunks  of  these  we  could  see  for  a 
hundred  yards  or  so  before  their  numbers  closed  in 
the  view.  Here  was  the  favourite  haunt  of  numerous 
beautiful  impalla.  We  caught  glimpses  of  them, 
flashing  through  the  trees;  or  occasionally  standing 
gazing  in  our  direction,  their  slender  necks  stretched 
high,  their  ears  pointed  for  us.  These  curious  ones 
were  generally  the  does.  The  bucks  were  either 
more  cautious  or  less  inquisitive.  A  herd  or  so  of 
eland  also  liked  this  covered  country;  and  there 

281 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

were  always  a  few  waterbuck  and  rhinoceroses 
about.  Often  too  we  here  encountered  stragglers  from 
the  open  plains  —  zebra  or  hartebeeste,  very  alert 
and  suspicious  in  unaccustomed  surroundings. 

A  great  deal  of  the  plains  country  had  been  burned 
over;  and  a  considerable  area  was  still  afire.  The  low 
bright  flames  licked  their  way  slowly  through  the  grass 
in  a  narrow  irregular  band  extending  sometimes  for 
miles.  Behind  it  was  blackened  soil,  and  above  it 
rolled  dense  clouds  of  smoke.  Always  accompanied 
it  thousands  of  birds  wheeling  and  dashing  frantically 
in  and  out  of  the  murk,  often  fairly  at  the  flames 
themselves.  The  published  writings  of  a  certain 
worthy  and  sentimental  person  waste  much  sym- 
pathy over  these  poor  birds  dashing  frenziedly  about 
above  their  destroyed  nests.  As  a  matter  of  fact 
they  are  taking  greedy  advantage  of  a  most  excellent 
opportunity  to  get  insects  cheap.  Thousands  of 
the  common  red-billed  European  storks  patrolled 
the  grass  just  in  front  of  the  advancing  flames,  or 
wheeled  barely  above  the  fire.  Grasshoppers  were 
their  main  object,  although  apparently  they  never 
objected  to  any  small  mammals  or  reptiles  that  came 
their  way.  Far  overhead  wheeled  a  few  thousand 
more  assorted  soarers  who  either  had  no  appetite  or 
had  satisfied  it. 

The  utter  indifference  of  the  animals  to  the  ad- 

282 


THE  TANA  RIVER 

vance  of  a  big  conflagration  always  impressed  me. 
One  naturally  pictures  the  beasts  as  fleeing  wildly, 
nostrils  distended,  before  the  devouring  element. 
On  the  contrary  I  have  seen  kongoni  grazing  quite 
peacefully  with  flames  on  three  sides  of  them.  The 
fire  seems  to  travel  rather  slowly  in  the  tough  grass; 
although  at  times  and  for  a  short  distance  it  will 
leap  to  a  wild  arid  roaring  life.  Beasts  will  then  lope 
rapidly  away  to  right  or  left,  but  without  excitement. 

On  these  open  plains  we  were  more  or  less  pestered 
with  ticks  of  various  sizes.  These  clung  to  the  grass 
blades;  but  with  no  invincible  preference  for  that 
habitat:  trousers  did  them  just  as  well.  Then  they 
ascended  looking  for  openings.  They  ranged  in 
size  from  little  red  ones  as  small  as  the  period  of 
a  printed  page  to  big  patterned  fellows  the  size  of  a 
pea.  The  little  ones  were  much  the  most  abundant. 
At  times  I  have  had  the  front  of  my  breeches  so 
covered  with  them  that  their  numbers  actually 
imparted  a  reddish  tinge  to  the  surface  of  the  cloth. 
This  sounds  like  exaggeration;  but  it  is  a  measured 
statement.  The  process  of  de-ticking  (new  and 
valuable  word)  can  then  be  done  only  by  scraping 
with  the  back  of  a  hunting  knife. 

Some  people,  of  tender  skin,  are  driven  nearly 
frantic  by  these  pests.  Others,  of  whom  I  am  thank- 
ful to  say  I  am  one,  get  off  comparatively  easy.  In 

283 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

a  particularly  bad  tick  country,  one  generally  ap- 
points one  of  the  youngsters  as  "tick  toto."  It  is 
then  his  job  in  life  to  de-tick  any  person  or  domestic 
animal  requiring  his  services.  His  is  a  busy  existence. 
But  though  at  first  the  nuisance  is  excessive,  one 
becomes  accustomed  to  it  in  a  remarkably  short  space 
of  time.  The  adaptability  of  the  human  being  is 
nowhere  better  exemplified.  After  a  time  one  gets 
so  that  at  night  he  can  remove  a  marauding  tick  and 
cast  it  forth  into  the  darkness  without  even  waking 
up.  Fortunately  ticks  are  local  in  distribution. 
Often  one  may  travel  weeks  or  months  without  this 
infliction. 

I  was  always  interested  and  impressed  to  observe 
how  indifferent  the  wild  animals  seem  to  be  to  these 
insects.  Zebra,  rhinoceros  and  giraffe  seem  to  be 
especially  good  hosts.  The  loathsome  creatures 
fasten  themselves  in  clusters  wherever  they  can  grip 
their  fangs.  Thus  in  a  tick  country  a  zebra's  ears, 
the  lids  and  corners  of  his  eyes,  his  nostrils  and  lips, 
the  soft  skin  between  his  legs  and  body,  and  between 
his  hind  legs,  and  under  his  tail  are  always  crusted 
with  ticks  as  thick  as  they  can  cling.  One  would 
think  the  drain  on  vitality  would  be  enormous,  but 
the  animals  are  always  plump  and  in  condition. 
The  same  state  of  affairs  obtains  with  the  other  two 
beasts  named.  The  hartebeeste  also  carries  ticks, 

284 


THE  TANA  RIVER 

but  not  nearly  in  the  same  abundance;  while  such 
creatures  as  the  waterbuck,  impalla,  gazelles  and 
the  smaller  bucks  seem  either  to  be  absolutely  free 
from  the  pests,  or  to  have  a  very  few.  Whether  this 
is  because  such  animals  take  the  trouble  to  rid  them- 
selves, or  because  they  are  more  immune  from  attack 
it  would  be  difficult  to  say.  I  have  found  ticks  cling- 
ing to  the  hair  of  lions,  but  never  fastened  to  the 
flesh.  It  is  probable  that  they  had  been  brushed  off 
from  the  grass  in  passing.  Perhaps  ticks  do  not  like 
lions,  waterbuck,  Tommies,  et  al.,  or  perhaps  only 
big  coarse-grained  common  brutes  like  zebra  and 
rhinos  will  stand  them  at  all. 


XX 

DIVERS  ADVENTURES  ALONG  THE  TANA 

ETE  one  afternoon  I  shot  a  wart-hog  in  the  tall 
grass.  The  beast  was  an  unusually  fine  speci- 
men, so  I  instructed  Fundi  and  the  porters  to  take 
the  head,  and  myself  started  for  camp  with  Memba 
Sasa.  I  had  gone  not  over  a  hundred  yards  when  I 
was  recalled  by  wild  and  agonized  appeals  of: 
"Bwana!  bwana!"  The  long-legged  Fundi  was 
repeatedly  leaping  straight  up  in  the  air  to  an 
astonishing  height  above  the  long  grass,  curling  his 
legs  up  under  him  at  each  jump,  and  yelling  like  a 
steam-engine.  Returning  promptly,  I  found  that 
the  wart-hog  had  come  to  life  at  the  first  prick  of  the 
knife.  He  was  engaged  in  charging  back  and  forth 
in  an  earnest  effort  to  tusk  Fundi,  and  the  latter  was 
jumping  high  in  an  equally  earnest  effort  to  keep  out 
of  the  way.  Fortunately  he  proved  agile  enough  to 
do  so  until  I  planted  another  bullet  in  the  aggressor. 
These  wart-hogs  are  most  comical  brutes  from 
whatever  angle  one  views  them.  They  have  a 
patriarchal,  self-satisfied,  suburban  manner  of  com- 

286 


ADVENTURES   ALONG  THE  TANA 

plete  importance.  The  old  gentleman  bosses  his 
harem  outrageously,  and  each  and  every  member  of 
the  tribe  walks  about  with  short  steps  and  a  stuffy 
parvenu  small-town  self-sufficiency.  One  is  quite 
certain  that  it  is  only  by  accident  that  they  have 
long  tusks  and  live  in  Africa,  instead  of  rubber-plants 
and  self-made  business  and  a  pug-dog  within  com- 
muters' distance  of  New  York.  But  at  the  slightest 
alarm  this  swollen  and  puffy  importance  breaks 
down  completely.  Away  they  scurry,  their  tails 
held  stiffly  and  straightly  perpendicular,  their  short 
legs  scrabbling  the  small  stones  in  a  frantic  effort 
to  go  faster  than  nature  had  intended  them  to  go. 
Nor  do  they  cease  their  flight  at  a  reasonable  distance, 
but  keep  on  going  over  hill  and  dale,  until  they  fairly 
vanish  in  the  blue.  I  used  to  like  starting  them 
off  this  way,  just  for  the  sake  of  contrast,  and  also 
for  the  sake  of  the  delicious  but  impossible  vision 
of  seeing  their  human  prototypes  do  likewise. 

When  a  wart-hog  is  at  home,  he  lives  down  a  hole. 
Of  course  it  has  to  be  a  particularly  large  hole.  He 
turns  around  and  backs  down  it.  No  more  peculiar 
sight  can  be  imagined  than  the  sardonically  tooth- 
some countenance  of  a  wart-hog  fading  slowly  in  the 
dimness  of  a  deep  burrow,  a  good  deal  like  Alice's 
Cheshire  Cat.  Firing  a  revolver,  preferably  with 
smoky  black  powder,  just  in  front  of  the  hole  annoys 

287 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

the  wart-hog  exceedingly.  Out  he  comes  full  tilt, 
bent  on  damaging  some  one,  and  it  takes  quick 
shooting  to  prevent  his  doing  so. 

Once,  many  hundreds  of  miles  south  of  the  Tana, 
and  many  months  later,  we  were  riding  quite  peace- 
ably through  the  country,  when  we  were  startled 
by  the  sound  of  a  deep  and  continuous  roaring  in  a 
small  brush  patch  to  our  left.  We  advanced  cau- 
tiously to  a  prospective  lion,  only  to  discover  that 
the  roaring  proceeded  from  the  depths  of  a  wart-hog 
burrow.  The  reverberation  of  our  footsteps  on  the 
hollow  ground  had  alarmed  him.  He  was  a  very 
nervous  wart-hog. 

On  another  occasion,  when  returning  to  camp  from, 
a  solitary  walk,  I  saw  two  wart-hogs  before  they  saw 
me.  I  made  no  attempt  to  conceal  myself,  but  stood 
absolutely  motionless.  They  fed  slowly  nearer  and 
nearer  until  at  last  they  were  not  over  twenty  yards 
away.  When  finally  they  made  me  out,  their  in- 
dignation and  amazement  and  utter  incredulity  were 
very  funny.  In  fact,  they  did  not  believe  in  me  at 
all  for  some  few  snorty  moments.  Finally  they 
departed,  their  absurd  tails  stiff  upright. 

One  afternoon  F.  and  I,  hunting  along  one  of  the 
wide  grass  bottom  lands,  caught  sight  of  a  herd  of 
an  especially  fine  impalla.  The  animals  were  feed- 

288 


ADVENTURES  ALONG  THE  TANA 

ing  about  fifty  yards  the  other  side  of  a  small  solit- 
ary bush,  and  the  bush  grew  on  the  sloping 
bank  of  the  slight  depression  that  represented 
the  dry  stream  bottom.  We  could  duck  down 
into  the  depression,  sneak  along  it,  come  up  back 
of  the  little  bush,  and  shoot  from  very  close 
range.  Leaving  the  gunbearers,  we  proceeded  to 
do  this. 

So  quietly  did  we  move  that  when  we  rose  up  back 
of  the  little  bush  a  lioness  lying  under  it  with  her 
cub  was  as  surprised  as  we  were! 

Indeed,  I  do  not  think  she  knew  what  we  were,  for 
instead  of  attacking,  she  leaped  out  the  other  side 
the  bush,  uttering  a  startled  snarl.  At  once  she 
whirled  to  come  at  us,  but  the  brief  respite  had 
allowed  us  to  recover  our  own  scattered  wits.  As 
she  turned  I  caught  her  broadside  through  the  heart. 
Although  this  shot  knocked  her  down,  F.  immedi- 
ately followed  it  with  another  for  safety's  sake. 
We  found  that  actually  we  had  just  missed  stepping 
on  her  tail! 

The  cub  we  caught  a  glimpse  of.  He  was  about 
the  size  of  a  setter  dog.  We  tried  hard  to  find  him, 
but  failed.  The  lioness  was  an  unusually  large  one, 
probably  about  as  big  as  the  female  ever  grows, 
measuring  nine  feet  six  inches  in  length,  and  three 
feet  eight  inches  tall  at  the  shoulder. 

289 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

Billy  had  her  funny  times  housekeeping.  The 
kitchen  department  never  quite  ceased  marvelling 
at  her.  Whenever  she  went  to  the  cook-camp  to 
deliver  her  orders  she  was  surrounded  by  an  atten- 
tive and  respectful  audience.  One  day,  after  hold- 
ing forth  for  some  time  in  Swahili,  she  found  that  she 
had  been  standing  hobnailed  on  one  of  the  boy's 
feet. 

"Why,  Mahomet!"  she  cried.  "That  must  have 
hurt  you !  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  ? " 

"Memsahib,"  he  smiled  politely,  "I  think  perhaps 
you  move  some  time!" 

On  another  occasion  she  was  trying  to  tell  the 
cook,  through  Mahomet  as  interpreter,  that  she 
wanted  a  tough  old  buffalo  steak  pounded,  boarding- 
house  style.  This  evidently  puzzled  all  hands. 
They  turned  to  in  an  earnest  discussion  of  what  it 
was  all  about,  anyway.  Billy  understood  Swahili 
well  enough  at  that  time  to  gather  that  they  could 
not  understand  the  Memsahib's  wanting  the  meat 
"kibokoed" — flogged.  Was  it  a  religious  rite,  or  a 
piece  of  revenge?  They  gave  it  up. 

"All  right,"  said  Mahomet  patiently  at  last.  "He 
say  he  do  it.  Which  one  is  it?  " 

Part  of  our  supplies  comprised  tins  of  dehydrated 
fruit.  One  evening  Billy  decided  to  have  a  grand 
celebration,  so  she  passed  out  a  tin  marked  "rhu- 

290 


• 


<u 

o 

03 
T3 

fi 


03 
3 


"a 


ADVENTURES  ALONG  THE  TANA 

barb"  and  some  cornstarch,  together  with  suitable 
instructions  for  a  fruit  pudding.  In  a  little  while 
the  cook  returned. 

"Nataka  m'tunde  —  I  want  fruit,"  said  he. 

Billy  pointed  out,  severely,  that  he  already  had 
fruit.  He  went  away  shaking  his  head.  Evening 
and  the  pudding  came.  It  looked  good,  and  we  con- 
gratulated Billy  on  her  culinary  enterprise.  Being 
hungry,  we  took  big  mouthfuls.  There  followed 
splutterings  and  investigations.  The  rhubarb  can 
proved  to  be  an  old  one  containing  heavy  gun 
grease! 

When  finally  we  parted  with  our  faithful  cook  we 
bought  him  a  really  wonderful  many  bladed  knife 
as  a  present.  On  seeing  it  he  slumped  to  the  ground 
—  six  feet  of  lofty  dignity  —  and  began  to  weep 
violently,  rocking  back  and  forth  in  an  excess  of 
grief. 

"Why,  what  is  it?"  we  inquired,  alarmed. 

"Oh,  Memsahib!"  he  wailed,  the  tears  coursing 
down  his  cheeks,  "  I  wanted  a  watch ! " 

One  morning  about  nine  o'clock  we  were  riding 
along  at  the  edge  of  a  grass-grown  savannah,  with  a 
low  hill  to  our  right  and  another  about  four  hundred 
yards  ahead.  Suddenly  two  rhinoceroses  came  to 
their  feet  some  fifty  yards  to  our  left,  out  in  the 

291 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

high  grass,  and  stood  looking  uncertainly  in  our 
direction. 

"Look  out!      Rhinos!"  I  warned  instantly. 

"Why  —  why!"  gasped  Billy  in  an  astonished 
tone  of  voice,  "they  have  manes!" 

In  some  concern  for  her  sanity  I  glanced  in  her 
direction.  She  was  staring,  not  to  her  left,  but 
straight  ahead.  I  followed  the  direction  of  her  gaze, 
to  see  three  lions  moving  across  the  face  of  the  hill. 

Instantly  we  dropped  off  our  horses.  We  wanted 
a  shot  at  those  lions  very  much  indeed,  but  were 
hampered  in  our  efforts  by  the  two  rhinoceroses,  now 
stamping,  snorting,  and  moving  slowly  in  our  direc- 
tion. The  language  we  muttered  was  racy,  but  we 
dropped  to  a  kneeling  position  and  opened  fire  on 
the  disappearing  lions.  It  was  most  distinctly  a 
case  of  divided  attention,  one  eye  on  those  menacing 
rhinos,  and  one  trying  to  attend  to  the  always  deli- 
cate operation  of  aligning  sights  and  signalling  from 
a  rather  distracted  brain  just  when  to  pull  the  trigger. 
Our  faithful  gunbearers  crouched  by  us,  the  heavy 
guns  ready. 

One  rhino  seemed  either  peaceable  or  stupid.  He 
showed  no  inclination  either  to  attack  or  to  depart, 
but  wae  willing  to  back  whatever  play  his  friend 
might  decide  on.  The  friend  charged  toward  us 
until  we  bogus  to  think  he  meant  battle,  stopped, 

292 


"These  wart-hogs  are  most  comical  brutes." 


"8 

a 

o 


<u 

£ 
a 

o 


ADVENTURES  ALONG  THE  TANA 

thought  a  moment,  and  then,  followed  by  his  com- 
panion, trotted  slowly  across  our  bows  about  eighty 
yards  away,  while  we  continued  our  long  range  prac- 
tice at  the  lions  over  their  backs. 

In  this  we  were  not  winning  many  cigars.  F.  had 
a  zSo-calibre  rifle  shooting  the  Ross  cartridge  through 
the  much  advertised  grooveless  oval  bore.  It  was 
little  accurate  beyond  a  hundred  yards.  Memba 
Sasa  had  thrust  the  405  into  my  hand,  knowing  it 
for  the  "lion  gun,"  and  kept  just  out  of  reach  with 
the  long-range  Springfield.  I  had  no  time  to  argue 
the  matter  with  him.  The  405  has  a  trajectory  like 
a  rainbow  at  that  distance,  and  I  was  guessing  at  it, 
and  not  making  very  good  guesses  either.  B.  had  his 
Springfield  and  made  closer  practice,  finally  hitting 
a  leg  of  one  of  the  beasts.  We  saw  him  lift  his  paw 
and  shake  it,  but  he  did  not  move  lamely  afterward, 
so  the  damage  was  probably  confined  to  a  simple 
scrape.  It  was  a  good  shot  anyway.  Then  they 
disappeared  over  the  top  of  the  hill. 

We  walked  forward,  regretting  rhinos.  Thirty 
yards  ahead  of  me  came  a  thunderous  and  roaring 
growl,  and  a  magnificent  old  lion  reared  his  head 
from  a  low  bush.  He  evidently  intended  mischief, 
for  I  could  see  his  tail  switching.  However,  B. 
had  killed  only  one  lion  and  I  wanted  very  much  to 
give  him  the  shot.  Therefore,  I  held  the  front  sight 

293 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

on  the  middle  of  his  chest,  and  uttered  a  fervent 
wish  to  myself  that  B.  would  hurry  up.  In  about 
ten  seconds  the  muzzle  of  his  rifle  poked  over  my 
shoulder,  so  I  resigned  the  job. 

At  B.'s  shot  the  lion  fell  over,  but  was  immediately 
up  and  trying  to  get  at  us.  Then  we  saw  that  his 
hind  quarters  were  paralyzed.  He  was  a  most  mag- 
nificent sight  as  he  reared  his  fine  old  head,  roaring 
at  us  full  mouthed  so  that  the  very  air  trembled. 
Billy  had  a  good  look  at  a  lion  in  action.  B.  took  up 
a  commanding  position  on  an  ant  hill  to  one  side 
with  his  rifle  levelled.  F.  and  I  advanced  slowly  side 
by  side.  At  twelve  feet  from  the  wounded  beast  we 
stopped,  F.  unlimbered  the  kodak,  while  I  held  the 
bead  of  the  405  between  the  lion's  eyes,  ready  to 
press  trigger  at  the  first  forward  movement,  however 
slight.  Thus  we  took  several  exposures  in  the  two 
cameras.  Unfortunately  one  of  the  cameras  fell 
in  the  river  the  next  day.  The  other  contained  but 
one  exposure.  While  not  so  spectacular  as  some  of 
those  spoiled,  it  shows  very  well  the  erect  mane,  ihe 
wicked  narrowing  of  the  eyes,  the  flattening  of  the 
ears  of  an  angry  lion.  You  must  imagine,  further- 
more, the  deep  rumbling  diapason  of  his  growling. 

We  backed  away,  and  B.  put  in  the  finishing  shot. 
The  first  bullet,  we  then  found,  had  penetrated  the 
kidneys,  thus  inflicting  a  temporary  paralysis. 

294 


ADVENTURES  ALONG  THE  TANA 

When  we  came  to  skin  him  we  found  an  old- 
fashioned  lead  bullet  between  the  bones  of  his  right 
forepaw.  The  entrance  wound  had  so  entirely 
healed  over  that  hardly  the  trace  of  a  scar  remained. 
From  what  I  know  of  the  character  of  these  beasts, 
I  have  no  doubt  that  this  ancient  injury  furnished 
the  reason  for  his  staying  to  attack  us  instead  of 
departing  with  the  other  three  lions  over  the  hill. 

Following  the  course  of  the  river,  we  one  afternoon 
came  around  a  bend  on  a  huge  herd  of  mixed  game 
that  had  been  down  to  water.  The  river,  a  quite 
impassable  barrier,  lay  to  our  right,  and  an  equally 
impassable  precipitous  ravine  barred  their  flight 
ahead.  They  were  forced  to  cross  our  front,  quite 
close,  within  the  hundred  yards.  We  stopped  to 
watch  them  go,  a  seemingly  endless  file  of  them,  some 
very  much  frightened,  bounding  spasmodically  as 
though  stung;  others,  more  philosophical,  loping 
easily  and  unconcernedly;  still  others  —  a  few  — 
even  stopping  for  a  moment  to  get  a  good  view  of  us. 
The  very  young  creatures,  as  always,  bounced  along 
absolutely  stiff-legged,  exactly  like  wooden  animals 
suspended  by  an  elastic,  touching  the  ground  and 
rebounding  high,  without  a  bend  of  the  knee  nor  an 
apparent  effort  of  the  muscles.  Young  animals 
seem  to  have  to  learn  how  to  bend  their  legs  for  the 

295 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

most  efficient  travel.  The  same  is  true  of  human 
babies  as  well.  In  this  herd  were,  we  estimated, 
some  four  or  five  hundred  beasts. 

While  hunting  near  the  foothills  I  came  across  the 
body  of  a  large  eagle  suspended  by  one  leg  from  the 
crotch  of  a  limb.  The  bird's  talon  had  missed  its 
grip,  probably  on  alighting,  the  tarsus  had  slipped 
through  the  crotch  beyond  the  joint,  the  eagle  had 
fallen  forward,  and  had  never  been  able  to  flop  itself 
back  to  an  upright  position ! 


296 


XXI 

THE  RHINOCEROS 

rhinoceros  is,  with  the  giraffe,  the  hippo- 
A  potamus,  the  gerenuk,  and  the  camel,  one  of 
Africa's  unbelievable  animals.  Nobody  has  bet- 
tered Kipling's  description  of  him  in  the  Just-so 
Stories:  "A  horn  on  his  nose,  piggy  eyes,  and  few 
manners."  He  lives  a  self-centred  life,  wrapped  up 
in  the  porcine  contentment  that  broods  within  nor 
looks  abroad  over  the  land.  When  anything  external 
to  himself  and  his  food  and  drink  penetrates  to  his 
intelligence  he  makes  a  flurried  fool  of  himself,  rush- 
ing madly  and  frantically  here  and  there  in  a  hys- 
terical effort  either  to  destroy  or  get  away  from  the 
cause  of  disturbance.  He  is  the  incarnation  of  a  liv- 
ing and  perpetual  Grouch. 

Generally  he  lives  by  himself,  sometimes  with  his 
spouse,  more  rarely  still  with  a  third  that  is  prob- 
ably a  grown-up  son  or  daughter.  I  personally  have 
never  seen  more  than  three  in  company.  Some 
observers  have  reported  larger  bands,  or  rather  col- 
lections, but,  lacking  other  evidence,  I  should  be 

297 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

inclined  to  suspect  that  some  circumstance  of  food 
or  water  rather  than  a  sense  of  gregariousness  had 
attracted  a  number  of  individuals  to  one  locality. 

The  rhinoceros  has  three  objects  in  life:  to  fill  his 
stomach  with  food  and  water,  to  stand  absolutely 
motionless  under  a  bush,  and  to  imitate  ant  hills 
when  he  lies  down  in  the  tall  grass.  When  dis- 
turbed at  any  of  these  occupations  he  snorts.  The 
snort  sounds  exactly  as  though  the  safety  valve  of 
a  locomotive  had  suddenly  opened  and  as  suddenly 
shut  again  after  two  seconds  of  escaping  steam. 
Then  he  puts  his  head  down  and  rushes  madly  in 
some  direction,  generally  upwind.  As  he  weighs 
about  two  tons,  and  can,  in  spite  of  his  appearance, 
get  over  the  ground  nearly  as  fast  as  an  ordinary 
horse,  he  is  a  truly  imposing  sight,  especially  since 
the  innocent  bystander  generally  happens  to  be 
upwind,  and  hence  in  the  general  path  of  progress. 
This  is  because  the  rhino's  scent  is  his  keenest  sense, 
and  through  it  he  becomes  aware,  in  the  majority  of 
times,  of  man's  presence.  His  sight  is  very  poor 
indeed;  he  cannot  see  clearly  even  a  moving  object 
much  beyond  fifty  yards.  He  can,  however,  hear 
pretty  well. 

The  novice,  then,  is  subjected  to  what  he  calls  a 
"vicious  charge"  on  the  part  of  the  rhinoceros, 
merely  because  his  scent  was  borne  to  the  beast 

298 


THE  RHINOCEROS 

from  upwind,  and  the  rhino  naturally  runs  away 
upwind.  He  opens  fire,  and  has  another  thrilling 
adventure  to  relate.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  if  he  had 
approached  from  the  other  side,  and  then  aroused 
the  animal  with  a  clod  of  earth,  the  beast  would 
probably  have  "charged"  away  in  identically  the 
same  direction.  I  am  convinced  from  a  fairly  varied 
experience  that  this  is  the  basis  for  most  of  the  thrill- 
ing experiences  with  rhinoceroses. 

But  whatever  the  beast's  first  mental  attitude,  the 
danger  is  quite  real.  In  the  beginning  he  rushes 
upwind  in  instinctive  reaction  against  the  strange 
scent.  If  he  catches  sight  of  the  man  at  all,  it  must  be 
after  he  has  approached  to  pretty  close  range,  for  only 
at  close  range  are  the  rhino's  eyes  effective.  Then 
he  is  quite  likely  to  finish  what  was  at  first  a  blind 
dash  by  a  genuine  charge.  Whether  this  is  from 
malice  or  from  the  panicky  feeling  that  he  is  now  too 
close  to  attempt  to  get  away,  I  never  was  able  to 
determine.  It  is  probably  in  the  majority  of  cases 
the  latter.  This  seems  indicated  by  the  fact  that 
the  rhino,  if  avoided  in  his  first  rush,  will  generally 
charge  right  through  and  keep  on  going.  Occasion- 
ally, however,  he  will  whirl  and  come  back  to  the 
attack.  There  can  then  be  no  doubt  that  he  actually 
intends  mischief. 

Nor  must  it  be  forgotten  that  with  these  animals, 
299 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

as  with  all  others,  not  enough  account  is  taken  of 
individual  variation.  They,  as  well  as  man,  and  as 
well  as  other  animals,  have  their  cowards,  their 
fighters,  their  slothful  and  their  enterprising.  And, 
too,  there  seem  to  be  truculent  and  peaceful  districts. 
North  of  Mt.  Kenia,  between  that  peak  and  the 
Northern  Guaso  Nyero  River,  we  saw  many  rhinos, 
none  of  which  showed  the  slightest  disposition  to 
turn  ugly.  In  fact,  they  were  so  peaceful  that  they 
scrabbled  off  as  fast  as  they  could  go  every  time  they 
either  scented,  heard,  or  saw  us;  and  in  their  flight 
they  held  their  noses  up,  not  down.  In  the  wide 
angle  between  the  Tana  and  Thika  rivers,  and 
comprising  the  Yatta  Plains,  and  in  the  thickets  of 
the  Tsavo,  the  rhinoceroses  generally  ran  nose  down 
in  a  position  of  attack  and  were  much  inclined  to 
let  their  angry  passions  master  them  at  the  sight  of 
man.  Thus  we  never  had  our  safari  scattered  by 
rhinoceroses  in  the  former  district,  while  in  the  lat- 
ter the  boys  were  up  trees  six  times  in  the  course  of 
one  morning!  Carl  Akeley,  with  a  moving  picture 
machine,  could  not  tease  a  charge  out  of  a  rhino  in  a 
dozen  tries,  while  Dugmore,  in  a  different  part  of  the 
country,  was  so  chivied  about  that  he  finally  left 
the  district  to  avoid  killing  any  more  of  the  brutes 
in  self-defence! 

The  fact  of  the  matter  is  that  the  rhinoceros  is 
300 


THE  RHINOCEROS 

neither  animated  by  the  implacable  man-destroying 
passion  ascribed  to  him  by  the  amateur  hunter,  nor 
is  he  so  purposeless  and  haphazard  in  his  rushes  as 
some  would  have  us  believe.  On  being  disturbed 
his  instinct  is  to  get  away.  He  generally  tries  to 
get  away  in  the  direction  of  the  disturbance,  or  up- 
wind, as  the  case  may  be.  If  he  catches  sight  of  the 
cause  of  disturbance  he  is  apt  to  try  to  trample  and 
gore  it,  whatever  it  is.  As  his  sight  is  short,  he 
will  sometimes  so  inflict  punishment  on  unoffending 
bushes.  In  doing  this  he  is  probably  not  animated 
by  a  consuming  destructive  blind  rage,  but  by  a 
naturally  pugnacious  desire  to  eliminate  sources  of 
annoyance.  Missing  a  definite  object,  he  thunders 
right  through  and  disappears  without  trying  again 
to  discover  what  has  aroused  him. 

This  first  rush  is  not  a  charge  in  the  sense  that 
it  is  an  attack  on  a  definite  object.  It  may  not, 
and  probably  will  not,  amount  to  a  charge  at  all,  for 
the  beast  will  blunder  through  without  ever  defining 
more  clearly  the  object  of  his  blind  dash.  That 
dash  is  likely,  however,  at  any  moment,  to  turn  into 
a  definite  charge  should  the  rhinoceros  happen  to 
catch  sight  of  his  disturber.  Whether  the  impelling 
motive  would  then  be  a  mistaken  notion  that  on  the 
part  of  the  beast  he  was  so  close  he  had  to  fight,  or 
just  plain  malice,  would  not  mutter.  At  such  times 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

the  intended  victim  is  not  interested  in  the  rhino's 
mental  processes. 

Owing  to  his  size,  his  powerful  armament,  and  his 
incredible  quickness  the  rhinoceros  is  a  dangerous 
animal  at  all  times,  to  be  treated  with  respect  and 
due  caution.  This  is  proved  by  the  number  of  white 
men,  out  of  a  sparse  population,  that  are  annually 
tossed  and  killed  by  the  brutes,  and  by  the  prompt- 
ness with  which  the  natives  take  to  trees  —  thorn 
trees  at  that!  —  when  the  cry  oifaru!  is  raised.  As 
he  comes  rushing  in  your  direction,  head  down  and 
long  weapon  pointed,  tail  rigidly  erect,  ears  up,  the 
earth  trembling  with  his  tread  and  the  air  with  his 
snorts,  you  suddenly  feel  very  small  and  ineffective. 

If  you  keep  cool,  however,  it  is  probable  that  the 
encounter  will  result  only  in  a  lot  of  mental  perturba- 
tion for  the  rhino  and  a  bit  of  excitement  for  your- 
self. If  there  is  any  cover  you  should  duck  down 
behind  it  and  move  rapidly  but  quietly  to  one  side 
or  another  of  the  line  of  advance.  If  there  is  no 
cover,  you  should  crouch  low  and  hold  still.  The 
chances  are  he  will  pass  to  one  side  or  the  other  of 
you,  and  go  snorting  away  into  the  distance.  Keep 
your  eye  on  him  very  closely.  If  he  swerves  defi- 
nitely in  your  direction,  and  drops  his  head  a  little 
lower,  it  would  be  just  as  well  to  open  fire.  Provided 
the  beast  was  still  far  enough  away  to  give  me  "sea- 

$02 


Rhinoceros  charging. 


"The  beast's  companion  refused  to  leave  the  dead  body.' 


THE  RHINOCEROS 

room,"  I  used  to  put  a  small  bullet  in  the  flesh  of  the 
outer  part  of  the  shoulder.  The  wound  thus  in- 
flicted was  not  at  all  serious,  but  the  shock  of  the 
bullet  usually  turned  the  beast.  This  was  generally 
in  the  direction  of  the  wounded  shoulder,  which 
would  indicate  that  the  brute  turned  toward  the  ap- 
parent source  of  the  attack,  probably  for  the  purpose 
of  getting  even.  At  any  rate,  the  shot  turned  the 
rush  to  one  side,  and  the  rhinoceros,  as  usual,  went 
right  on  through.  If,  however,  he  seemed  to  mean 
business,  or  was  too  close  for  comfort,  the  point  to 
aim  for  was  the  neck  just  above  the  lowered  horn. 

In  my  own  experience  I  came  to  establish  a 
"  dead  line  "  about  twenty  yards  from  myself.  That 
seemed  to  be  as  near  as  I  cared  to  let  the  brutes 
come.  Up  to  that  point  I  let  them  alone  on  the 
chance  that  they  might  swerve  or  change  their  minds, 
as  they  often  did.  But  inside  of  twenty  yards, 
whether  the  rhinoceros  meant  to  charge  me,  or  was 
merely  running  blindly  by,  did  not  particularly 
matter.  Even  in  the  latter  case  he  might  happen  to 
catch  sight  of  me  and  change  his  mind.  Thus, 
looking  over  my  notebook  records,  I  find  that  I  was 
"charged"  forty  odd  times  —  that  is  to  say,  the 
rhinoceros  rushed  in  my  general  direction.  Of  this 
lot  I  can  be  sure  of  but  three,  and  possibly  four,  that 
certainly  meant  mischief.  Six  more  came  so  directly 

303 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

at  us,  and  continued  so  to  come,  that  in  spite  of  our- 
selves we  were  compelled  to  kill  them.  The  rest 
were  successfully  dodged. 

As  I  have  heard  old  hunters,  of  many  times  my 
experience,  affirm  that  only  in  a  few  instances  have 
they  themselves  been  charged  indubitably  and  with 
malice  aforethought,  it  might  be  well  to  detail  my 
reasons  for  believing  myself  definitely  and  not 
blindly  attacked. 

The  first  instance  was  that  when  B.  killed  his 
second  trophy  rhinoceros.  The  beast's  companion 
refused  to  leave  the  dead  body  for  a  long  time,  but 
finally  withdrew.  On  our  approaching,  however, 
and  after  we  had  been  some  moments  occupied  with 
the  trophy,  it  returned  and  charged  viciously.  It 
was  finally  killed  at  fifteen  yards. 

The  second  instance  was  of  a  rhinoceros  that  got 
up  from  the  grass  sixty  yards  away,  and  came  head- 
long in  my  direction.  At  the  moment  I  was  stand- 
ing on  the  edge  of  a  narrow  eroded  ravine,  ten  feet 
deep,  with  perpendicular  sides.  The  rhinoceros 
came  on  bravely  to  the  edge  of  this  ravine  —  and 
stopped.  Then  he  gave  an  exhibition  of  unmiti- 
gated bad  temper  most  amusing  to  contemplate  — 
from  my  safe  position.  He  snorted,  and  stamped, 
and  pawed  the  earth,  and  ramped  up  and  down  at  a 
great  rate.  I  sat  on  the  opposite  bank  and  laughed 

304 


THE  RHINOCEROS 

at  him.  This  did  not  please  him  a  bit,  but  after 
many  short  rushes  to  the  edge  of  the  ravine,  he  gave 
it  up  and  departed  slowly,  his  tail  very  erect  and 
rigid.  From  the  persistency  with  which  he  tried  to 
get  at  me,  I  cannot  but  think  he  intended  something 
of  the  sort  from  the  first. 

The  third  instance  was  much  more  aggravating. 
In  company  with  Memba  Sasa  and  Fundi  I  left  camp 
early  one  morning  to  get  a  waterbuck.  Four  or  five 
hundred  yards  out,  however,  we  came  on  fresh  buf- 
falo signs,  not  an  hour  old.  To  one  who  knew  any- 
thing of  buffaloes' habits  this  seemed  like  an  excellent 
chance,  for  at  this  time  of  the  morning  they  should 
be  feeding  not  far  away  preparatory  to  seeking  cover 
for  the  day.  Therefore  we  immediately  took  up  the 
trail. 

It  led  us  over  hills,  through  valleys,  high  grass, 
burned  country,  brush,  thin  scrub,  and  small  wood- 
land alternately.  Unfortunately  we  had  happened 
on  these  buffalo  just  as  they  were  about  changing 
district,  and  they  were  therefore  travelling  steadily. 
At  times  the  trail  was  easy  to  follow,  and  at  other 
times  we  had  to  cast  about  very  diligently  to  find 
traces  of  the  direction  even  such  huge  animals  had 
taken.  It  was  interesting  work,  however,  and  we 
drew  on  steadily,  keeping  a  sharp  lookout  ahead  in 
case  the  buffalo  had  come  to  a  halt  in  some  shady 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

thicket  out  of  the  sun.  As  the  latter  ascended  the 
heavens  and  the  scorching  heat  increased,  our  con- 
fidence in  nearing  our  quarry  ascended  likewise,  for 
we  knew  that  buffaloes  do  not  like  great  heat.  Never- 
theless this  band  continued  straight  on  its  way.  I 
think  now  they  must  have  got  scent  of  our  camp,  and 
had  therefore  decided  to  move  to  one  of  the  alternate 
and  widely  separated  feeding  grounds  every  herd 
keeps  in  its  habitat.  Only  at  noon,  and  after  six 
hours  of  steady  trailing,  covering  perhaps  a  dozen 
miles,  did  we  catch  them  up. 

From  the  start  we  had  been  bothered  with  rhinoc- 
eroses. Five  times  did  we  encounter  them,  standing 
almost  squarely  on  the  line  of  the  spoor  we  were 
following.  Then  we  had  to  make  a  wide  quiet 
circle  to  leeward  in  order  to  avoid  disturbing  them, 
and  were  forced  to  a  very  minute  search  in  order  to 
pick  up  the  buffalo  tracks  again  on  the  other  side. 
This  was  at  once  an  anxiety  and  a  delay,  and  we  did 
not  love  those  rhino. 

Finally,  at  the  very  edge  of  the  Yatta  Plains  we 
overtook  the  herd,  resting  for  noon  in  a  scattered 
thicket.  Leaving  Fundi,  I,  with  Memba  Sasa, 
stalked  down  to  them.  We  crawled  and  crept  by 
inches  flat  to  the  ground,  which  was  so  hot  that  it 
fairly  burned  the  hand.  The  sun  beat  down  on  us 
fiercely,  and  the  air  was  close  and  heavy  even  among 

306 


"At  first  the  traveller  is  pleased  and  curious  over 
rhinoceros." 


"And  departed  over  the  hills." 


Oj 

0. 


IP 


o 
fl 

.a 


THE  RHINOCEROS 

the  scanty  grass  tufts  in  which  we  were  trying  to  get 
cover.  It  was  very  hard  work  indeed,  but  after  a 
half  hour  of  it  we  gained  a  thin  bush  not  over  thirty 
yards  from  a  half  dozen  dark  and  indeterminate 
bodies  dozing  in  the  very  centre  of  a  brush  patch. 
Cautiously  I  wiped  the  sweat  from  my  eyes  and 
raised  my  glasses.  It  was  slow  work  and  patient 
work,  picking  out  and  examining  each  individual 
beast  from  the  mass.  Finally  the  job  was  done.  I 
let  fall  my  glasses. 

"Monumookee  y'otey  —  all  cows,"  I  whispered 
to  Memba  Sasa. 

We  backed  out  of  there  inch  by  inch,  with  the 
intention  of  circling  a  short  distance  to  the  leeward, 
and  then  trying  the  herd  again  lower  down.  But 
some  awkward  slight  movement,  probably  on  my 
part,  caught  the  eye  of  one  of  those  blessed  cows. 
She  threw  up  her  head;  instantly  the  whole  thicket 
seemed  alive  with  beasts.  We  could  hear  them  crash- 
ing and  stamping,  breaking  the  brush,  rushing  head- 
long and  stopping  again;  we  could  even  catch 
momentary  glimpses  of  dark  bodies.  After  a  few 
minutes  we  saw  the  mass  of  the  herd  emerge  from 
the  thicket  five  hundred  yards  away  and  flow  up 
over  the  hill.  There  were  probably  a  hundred  and 
fifty  of  them,  and,  looking  through  my  glasses,  I  saw 
among  them  two  fine  old  bulls,  They  were  of  course 

307 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

not  much  alarmed,  as  only  the  one  cow  knew  what 
it  was  all  about  anyway,  and  I  suspected  they  would 
stop  at  the  next  thicket. 

We  had  only  one  small  canteen  of  water  with  us, 
but  we  divided  that.  It  probably  did  us  good,  but 
the  quantity  was  not  sufficient  to  touch  our  thirst. 
For  the  remainder  of  the  day  we  suffered  rather 
severely,  as  the  sun  was  fierce. 

After  a  short  interval  we  followed  on  after  the 
buffaloes.  Within  a  half  mile  beyond  the  crest  of  the 
hill  over  which  they  had  disappeared  was  another 
thicket.  At  the  very  edge  of  the  thicket,  asleep 
under  an  outlying  bush,  stood  one  of  the  big  bulls! 

Luck  seemed  with  us  at  last.  The  wind  was  right, 
and  between  us  and  the  bull  lay  only  four  hundred 
yards  of  knee-high  grass.  All  we  had  to  do  was  to 
get  down  on  our  hands  and  knees,  and,  without 
further  precautions,  crawl  up  within  range  and  pot 
him.  That  meant  only  a  bit  of  hard,  hot  work. 

When  we  were  about  halfway  a  rhinoceros  sud- 
denly arose  from  the  grass  between  us  and  the 
buffalo,  and  about  one  hundred  yards  away. 

What  had  aroused  him,  at  that  distance  and  up- 
wind, I  do  not  know.  It  hardly  seemed  possible 
that  he  could  have  heard  us,  for  we  were  moving 
very  quietly,  and,  as  I  say,  we  were  downwind. 
However,  there  he  was  on  his  feet,  sniffing  now  this 

308 


THE  RHINOCEROS 

way,  now  that,  in  search  for  what  had  alarmed  him. 
We  sank  out  of  sight  and  lay  low,  fully  expecting 
that  the  brute  would  make  off. 

For  just  twenty-five  minutes  by  the  watch  that 
rhinoceros  looked  and  looked  deliberately  in  all 
directions  while  we  lay  hidden  waiting  for  him  to  get 
over  it.  Sometimes  he  would  start  off  quite  con- 
fidently for  fifty  or  sixty  yards,  so  that  we  thought  at 
last  we  were  rid  of  him,  but  always  he  returned  to  the 
exact  spot  where  we  had  first  seen  him,  there  to 
stamp,  and  blow.  The  buffalo  paid  no  attention  to 
these  manifestations.  I  suppose  everybody  in  jun- 
gleland  is  accustomed  to  rhinoceros  bad  temper 
over  nothing.  Twice  he  came  in  our  direction,  but 
both  times  gave  it  up  after  advancing  twenty- 
five  yards  or  so.  We  lay  flat  on  our  faces,  the 
vertical  sun  slowly  roasting  us,  and  cursed  that 
rhino. 

Now  the  significance  of  this  incident  is  twofold: 
first,  the  fact  that,  instead  of  rushing  off  at  the  first 
intimation  of  our  presence,  as  would  the  average 
rhino,  he  went  methodically  to  work  to  find  us; 
second,  that  he  displayed  such  remarkable  per- 
severance as  to  keep  at  it  nearly  a  half  hour.  This 
was  a  spirit  quite  at  variance  with  that  finding  its 
expression  in  the  blind  rush  or  in  the  sudden  pas- 
sionate attack.  From  that  point  of  view  it  seems 

309 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

to  me  that  the  interest  and  significance  of  the  in- 
cident can  hardly  be  overstated. 

Four  or  five  times  we  thought  ourselves  freed  from 
the  nuisance,  but  always,  just  as  we  were  about  to 
move  on,  back  he  came,  as  eager  as  ever  to  nose  us 
out.  Finally  he  gave  it  up,  and,  at  a  slow  trot, 
started  to  go  away  from  there.  And  out  of  the  three 
hundred  and  sixty  degrees  of  the  circle  where  he 
might  have  gone  he  selected  just  our  direction.  Note 
that  this  was  downwind  for  him,  and  that  rhinoc- 
eroses usually  escape  upwind. 

We  laid  very  low,  hoping  that,  as  before,  he  would 
change  his  mind  as  to  direction.  But  now  he  was 
no  longer  looking,  but  travelling.  Nearer  and 
nearer  he  came.  We  could  see  plainly  his  little  eyes, 
and  hear  the  regular  swish,  swish,  swish  of  his  thick 
legs  brushing  through  the  grass.  The  regularity  of 
his  trot  never  varied,  but  to  me  lying  there  directly 
in  his  path,  he  seemed  to  be  coming  on  altogether 
too  fast  for  comfort.  From  our  low  level  he  looked 
as  big  as  a  barn.  Memba  Sasa  touched  me  lightly 
on  the  leg.  I  hated  to  shoot,  but  finally  when  he 
loomed  fairly  over  us  I  saw  it  must  be  now  or  never. 
If  I  allowed  him  to  come  closer,  he  must  indubitably 
catch  the  first  movement  of  my  gun  and  so  charge 
right  on  us  before  I  would  have  time  to  deliver  even 
an  ineffective  shot.  Therefore,  most  reluctantly,  I 

310 


THE  RHINOCEROS 

placed  the  ivory  bead  of  the  great  Holland  gun  just 
to  the  point  of  his  shoulder  and  pulled  the  trigger. 
So  close  was  he  that  as  he  toppled  forward  I  instinc- 
tively, though  unnecessarily  of  course,  shrank  back 
as  though  he  might  fall  on  me.  Fortunately  I  had 
picked  my  spot  properly,  and  no  second  shot  was 
necessary.  He  fell  just  twenty-seven  feet  —  nine 
yards  —  from  where  we  lay! 

The  buffalo  vanished  into  the  blue.  We  were  left 
with  a  dead  rhino,  which  we  did  not  want,  twelve 
miles  from  camp,  and  no  water.  It  was  a  hard  hike 
back,  but  we  made  it  finally,  though  nearly  perished 
from  thirst. 

This  beast,  be  it  noted,  did  not  charge  us  at  all, 
but  I  consider  him  as  one  of  the  three  undoubtedly 
animated  by  hostile  intentions.  Of  the  others  I  can, 
at  this  moment,  remember  five  that  might  or  might 
not  have  been  actually  and  maliciously  charging 
when  they  were  killed  or  dodged.  I  am  no  mind 
reader  for  rhinoceros.  Also  I  am  willing  to  believe 
in  their  entirely  altruistic  intentions.  Only,  if  they 
want  to  get  the  practical  results  of  their  said  altruis- 
tic intentions  they  must  really  refrain  from  coming 
straight  at  me  nearer  than  twenty  yards.  It  has 
been  stated  that  if  one  stands  perfectly  still  until  the 
rhinoceros  is  just  six  feet  away,  and  then  jumps  side- 
ways, the  beast  will  pass  him.  I  never  happened  to 

3" 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

meet  anybody  who  had  acted  on  this  theory.  I 
suppose  that  such  exist:  though  I  doubt  if  any  per- 
sistent exponent  of  the  art  is  likely  to  exist  long. 
Personally  I  like  my  own  method,  and  stoutly  main- 
tain that,  within  twenty  yards  it  is  up  to  the  rhinoc- 
eros to  begin  to  do  the  dodging. 


312 


XXII 

THE  RHINOCEROS—  (continued) 

AT  FIRST  the  traveller  is  pleased  and  curious 
over  rhinoceros.  After  he  has  seen  and  en- 
countered eight  or  ten,  he  begins  to  look  upon  them 
as  an  unmitigated  nuisance.  By  the  time  he  has 
done  a  week  in  thick  rhino-infested  scrub  he  gets 
fairly  to  hating  them. 

They  are  bad  enough  in  the  open  plains,  where 
they  can  be  seen  and  avoided,  but  in  the  tall  grass 
or  the  scrub  they  are  a  continuous  anxiety.  No 
cover  seems  small  enough  to  reveal  them.  Often 
they  will  stand  or  lie  absolutely  immobile  until  you 
are  within  a  very  short  distance,  and  then  will  out- 
rageously break  out.  They  are,  in  spite  of  their 
clumsy  build,  as  quick  and  active  as  polo  ponies, 
and  are  the  only  beasts  I  know  of  capable  of  leaping 
into  full  speed  ahead  from  a  recumbent  position. 
In  thorn  scrub  they  are  the  worst,  for  there,  no 
matter  how  alert  the  traveller  may  hold  himself, 
he  is  likely  to  come  around  a  bush  smack  on  one. 
And  a  dozen  times  a  day  the  throat-stopping,  abrupt 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

crash  and  smash  to  right  or  left  brings  him  up  all 
standing,  his  heart  racing,  the  blood  pounding 
through  his  veins.  It  is  jumpy  work,  and  is  very 
hard  on  the  temper.  In  the  natural  reaction  from 
being  startled  into  fits  one  snaps  back  to  profanity. 
The  cumulative  effects  of  the  epithets  hurled  after  a 
departing  and  inconsiderately  hasty  rhinoceros  may 
have  done  something  toward  ruining  the  temper  of 
the  species.  It  does  not  matter  whether  or  not  the 
individual  beast  proves  dangerous;  he  is  inevitably 
most  startling.  I  have  come  in  at  night  with  my 
eyes  fairly  aching  from  spying  for  rhinos  during  a 
day's  journey  through  high  grass. 

And,  as  a  friend  remarked,  rhinos  are  such  a 
mussy  death.  One  poor  chap,  killed  while  we  were 
away  on  our  first  trip,  could  not  be  moved  from  the 
spot  where  he  had  been  trampled.  A  few  shovelfuls 
of  earth  over  the  remains  was  all  the  rhinoceros  had 
left  possible. 

Fortunately,  in  the  thick  stuff  especially,  it  is 
often  possible  to  avoid  the  chance  rhinoceros  through 
the  warning  given  by  the  rhinoceros  birds.  These 
are  birds  about  the  size  of  a  robin  that  accompany 
the  beast  everywhere.  They  sit  in  a  row  along  his 
back  occupying  themselves  with  ticks  and  a  good 
place  to  roost.  Always  they  are  peaceful  and  quiet 
until  a  human  being  approaches.  Then  they  flutter 


THE  RHINOCEROS 

a  few  feet  into  the  air  uttering  a  peculiar  rapid 
chattering.  Writers  with  more  sentiment  than  sense 
of  proportion  assure  us  that  this  warns  the  rhinoc- 
eros of  approaching  danger.  On  the  contrary,  I 
always  looked  at  it  the  other  way.  The  rhinoceros 
birds  thereby  warned  me  of  danger,  and  I  was  duly 
thankful. 

The  safari  boys  stand  quite  justly  in  a  holy  awe  of 
the  rhino.  The  safari  is  strung  out  over  a  mile  or 
two  of  country,  as  a  usual  thing,  and  a  downwind 
rhino  is  sure  to  pierce  some  part  of  the  line  in  his 
rush.  Then  down  go  the  loads  with  a  smash,  and 
up  the  nearest  trees  swarm  the  boys.  Usually  their 
refuges  are  thorn  trees,  armed,  even  on  the  main 
trunk,  with  long  sharp  spikes.  There  is  no  difficulty 
in  going  up,  but  the  gingerly  coming  down,  after  all 
the  excitement  has  died,  is  a  matter  of  deliberation 
and  of  voices  uplifted  in  woe.  Cuninghame  tells 
of  an  inadequate  slender  and  springy,  but  solitary, 
sapling  into  which  swarmed  half  his  safari  on  the 
advent  of  a  rambunctious  rhino.  The  tree  swayed 
and  bent  and  cracked  alarmingly,  threatening  to 
dump  the  whole  lot  on  the  ground.  At  each  crack 
the  boys  yelled.  This  attracted  the  rhinoceros, 
which  immediately  charged  the  tree  full  tilt.  He  hit 
square,  the  tree  shivered  and  creaked,  the  boys 
wound  their  arms  and  legs  around  the  slender  sup- 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

port  and  howled  frantically.  Again  and  again  the 
rhinoceros  drew  back  to  repeat  his  butting  of  that 
tree.  By  the  time  Cuninghame  reached  the  spot, 
the  tree,  with  its  despairing  burden  of  black 
birds,  was  clinging  to  the  soil  by  its  last  remaining 
roots. 

In  the  Nairobi  Club  I  met  a  gentleman  with  one 
arm  gone  at  the  shoulder.  He  told  his  story  in  a 
slightly  bored  and  drawling  voice,  picking  his  words 
very  carefully,  and  evidently  most  occupied  with 
neither  understating  nor  overstating  the  case.  It 
seems  he  had  been  out,  and  had  killed  some  sort  of  a 
buck.  While  his  men  were  occupied  with  this,  he 
strolled  on  alone  to  see  what  he  could  find.  He  found 
a  rhinoceros,  that  charged  viciously,  and  into  which 
he  emptied  his  gun. 

"When  I  came  to,"  he  said,  "it  was  just  coming  on 
dusk,  and  the  lions  were  beginning  to  grunt.  My  arm 
was  completely  crushed,  and  I  was  badly  bruised 
and  knocked  about.  As  near  as  I  could  remember 
I  was  fully  ten  miles  from  camp.  A  circle  of  carrion 
birds  stood  all  about  me  not  more  than  ten  feet  away, 
and  a  great  many  others  were  flapping  over  me  and 
fighting  in  the  air.  These  last  were  so  close  that  I 
could  feel  the  wind  from  their  wings.  It  was 
rawther  gruesome."  He  paused  and  thought  a 
moment,  as  though  weighing  his  words.  "In  fact," 

316 


THE  RHINOCEROS 

he  added  with  an  air  of  final  conviction,  "it  was 
quite  gruesome!" 

The  most  calm  and  imperturbable  rhinoceros  I 
ever  saw  was  one  that  made  us  a  call  on  the  Thika 
River.  It  was  just  noon,  and  our  boys  were  making 
camp  after  a  morning's  march.  The  usual  racket 
was  on,  and  the  usual  varied  movement  of  rather 
confused  industry.  Suddenly  silence  fell.  We  came 
out  of  the  tent  to  see  the  safari  gazing  spellbound  in 
one  direction.  There  was  a  rhinoceros  wandering 
peaceably  over  the  little  knoll  back  of  camp,  and 
headed  exactly  in  our  direction.  While  we  watched, 
he  strolled  through  the  edge  of  camp,  descended 
the  steep  bank  to  the  river's  edge,  drank,  climbed 
the  bank,  strolled  through  camp  again  and  departed 
over  the  hill.  To  us  he  paid  not  the  slightest  atten- 
tion. It  seems  impossible  to  believe  that  he  neither 
scented  nor  saw  any  evidences  of  human  life  in  all 
that  populated  flat,  especially  when  one  considers 
how  often  these  beasts  will  seem  to  become  aware 
of  man's  presence  by  telepathy.*  Perhaps  he  was 
the  one  exception  to  the  whole  race,  and  was  a  good- 
natured  rhino. 

The  babies  are  astonishing  and  amusing  creatures, 
with  blunt  noses  on  which  the  horns  are  just  begin- 

*Opposing  theories  are  those  of  "instinct,"  and  of  slight  causes,  such  as  grass- 
hoppers heaping  before  the  hunter's  feet,  not  noticed  By  the  man  apprfWching. 

317 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

ning  to  form,  and  with  even  fewer  manners  than  their 
parents.  The  mere  fact  of  an  Soo-pound  baby  does 
not  cease  to  be  curious.  They  are  truculent  little 
creatures,  and  sometimes  rather  hard  to  avoid  when 
they  get  on  the  warpath.  Generally,  as  far  as  my 
observation  goes,  the  mother  gives  birth  to  but  one 
at  a  time.  There  may  be  occasional  twin  births, 
but  I  happen  never  to  have  met  so  interesting  a 
family. 

Rhinoceroses  are  still  very  numerous  —  too  numer- 
ous. I  have  seen  as  many  as  fourteen  in  two  hours, 
and  probably  could  have  found  as  many  more  if  I  had 
been  searching  for  them.  There  is  no  doubt,  how- 
ever, that  this  species  must  be  the  first  to  disappear 
of  the  larger  African  animals.  His  great  size  com- 
bined with  his  'orrid  'abits  mark  him  for  early  de- 
struction. No  such  dangerous  lunatic  can  be  allowed 
at  large  in  a  settled  country,  nor  in  a  country  where 
men  are  travelling  constantly.  The  species  will 
probably  be  preserved  in  appropriate  restricted 
areas.  It  would  be  a  great  pity  to  have  so  perfect 
an  example  of  the  Prehistoric  Pinhead  wiped  out 
completely.  Elsewhere  he  will  diminish,  and  finally 
disappear. 

For  one  thing,  and  for  one  thing  only,  is  the  travel- 
ler indebted  to  the  rhinoceros.  The  beast  is  lazy, 
Jarge,  and  has  an  excellent  eye  for  easy  ways  through. 


'The  babies  are  astonishing  and  amusing  creatures." 


"Descended  the  steep  bank  to  the  river's  edge." 


THE  RHINOCEROS 

For  this  reason,  as  regards  the  question  of  good  roads, 
he  combines  the  excellent  qualities  of  Public  Senti- 
ment, the  Steam  Roller,  and  the  Expert  Engineer. 
Through  thorn  thickets  impenetrable  to  anything 
less  armoured  than  a  dreadnaught  like  himself  he 
clears  excellent  paths.  Down  and  out  of  eroded 
ravines  with  perpendicular  sides  he  makes  excellent 
wide  trails,  tramped  hard,  on  easy  grades,  often  with 
zigzags  to  ease  the  slant.  In  some  of  the  high  coun- 
try where  the  torrential  rains  wash  hundreds  of  such 
gullies  across  the  line  of  march  it  is  hardly  an  exag- 
geration to  say  that  travel  would  be  practically 
impossible  without  the  rhino  trails  wherewith  to 
cross.  Sometimes  the  perpendicular  banks  will  ex- 
tend for  miles  without  offering  any  natural  break 
down  to  the  stream-bed.  Since  this  is  so  I  respect- 
fully submit  to  Government  the  following  proposal: 

(a)  That  a  limited  number  of  these  beasts  shall  be 
licensed  as  Trail  Rhinos;  and  that  all  the  rest  shall 
be  killed  from  the  settled  and  regularly  travelled 
districts. 

(b)  That  these  Trail  Rhinos   shall  be   suitably 
hobbled  by  short  steel  chains. 

(c)  That  each  Trail  Rhino  shall  carry  painted  con- 
spicuously on  his  side  his  serial  number. 

(d)  That  as  a  further  precaution  for  public  safety 
each  Trail  Rhino  shall  carry  firmly  attached  to  his 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

tail  a  suitable  red  warning  flag.  Thus  the  well- 
known  habit  of  the  rhinoceros  of  elevating  his  tail 
rigidly  when  about  to  charge,  or  when  in  the  act  of 
charging,  will  fly  the  flag  as  a  warning  to  travellers. 

(e)  That  an  official  shall  be  appointed  to  be  known 
as  the  Inspector  of  Rhinos  whose  duty  it  shall  be 
to  examine  the  hobbles,  numbers  and  flags  of  all 
Trail  Rhinos,  and  to  keep  the  same  in  due  working 
order  and  repair. 

And  I  do  submit  to  all  and  sundry  that  the  above 
resolutions  have  as  much  sense  to  them  as  have  most 
of  the  petitions  submitted  to  Government  by  settlers 
in  a  new  country. 


320 


XXIII 
THE  HIPPO  POOL 

FOR  a  number  of  days  we  camped  in  a  grove 
just  above  a  dense  jungle  and  not  fifty  paces 
from  the  bank  of  a  deep  and  wide  river.  We  could 
at  various  points  push  through  light  low  under- 
growth, or  stoop  beneath  clear  limbs,  or  emerge  on 
tiny  open  banks  and  promontories  to  look  out  over 
the  width  of  the  stream.  The  river  here  was  some 
three  or  four  hundred  feet  wide.  It  cascaded  down 
through  various  large  boulders  and  sluiceways  to 
fall  bubbling  and  boiling  into  deep  water;  it  then 
flowed  still  and  sluggish  for  nearly  a  half  mile  and 
finally  divided  into  channels  around  a  number  of 
wooded  islands  of  different  sizes.  In  the  long  still 
stretch  dwelt  about  sixty  hippopotamuses  of  all 
sizes. 

During  our  stay  these  hippos  led  a  life  of  alarmed 
and  angry  care.  When  we  first  arrived  they  were 
distributed  picturesquely  on  banks  or  sandbars,  or 
were  lying  in  midstream.  At  once  they  disappeared 
under  water.  By  the  end  of  four  or  five  minutes  they 

321 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

began  to  come  to  the  surface.  Each  beast  took  one 
disgusted  look,  snorted,  and  sank  again.  So  hasty 
was  his  action  that  he  did  not  even  take  time  to  get 
a  full  breath;  consequently  up  he  had  to  come  in 
not  more  than  two  minutes,  this  time.  The  third 
submersion  lasted  less  than  a  minute;  and  at  the  end 
of  a  half  hour  of  yelling  we  had  the  hippos  alter- 
nating between  the  bottom  of  the  river  and  the  sur- 
face of  the  water  about  as  fast  as  they  could  make  the 
round  trip,  blowing  like  porpoises.  It  was  a  comi- 
cal sight.  And  as  some  of  the  boys  were  always 
out  watching  the  show,  those  hippos  had  no  respite 
during  the  daylight  hours.  From  a  short  distance 
inland  the  explosive  blowing  as  they  came  to  the 
surface  sounded  like  the  irregular  exhaust  of  a  steam- 
engine. 

We  camped  at  this  spot  four  days;  and  never,  in 
that  length  of  time,  during  the  daytime,  did  those 
hippopotamuses  take  any  recreation  and  rest.  To 
be  sure  after  a  little  they  calmed  down  sufficiently 
to  remain  on  the  surface  for  a  half  minute  or  so,  in- 
stead of  gasping  a  mouthful  of  air  and  plunging  be- 
low at  once;  but  below  was  where  they  considered 
they  belonged  most  of  the  time.  We  got  to  recognize 
certain  individuals.  They  would  stare  at  us  fixedly 
for  a  while;  and  then  would  glump  down  out  of  sight 
like  submarines. 

322 


THE  HIPPO  POOL 

When  I  saw  them  thus  floating  with  only  the  very 
top  of  the  head  and  snout  out  of  water,  I  for  the  first 
time  appreciated  why  the  Greeks  had  named  them 
hippopotamuses  —  the  river  horses.  With  the  heavy 
jowl  hidden;  and  the  prominent  nostrils,  the  long 
reverse-curved  nose,  the  wide  eyes,  and  the  little 
pointed  ears  alone  visible,  they  resembled  more  than 
a  little  that  sort  of  conventionalized  and  noble 
charger  seen  on  the  frieze  of  the  Parthenon,  or  in  the 
prancy  paintings  of  the  Renaissance. 

There  were  hippopotamuses  of  all  sizes  and  of  all 
colours.  The  little  ones,  not  bigger  than  a  grand 
piano,  were  of  flesh  pink.  Those  half-grown  were 
mottled  with  pink  and  black  in  blotches.  The 
adults  were  almost  invariably  all  dark,  though  a  few 
of  them  retained  still  a  small  pink  spot  or  so  —  a 
sort  of  persistence  in  mature  years  of  the  eternal 
boy,  I  suppose.  All  were  very  sleek  and  shiny  with 
the  wet;  and  they  had  a  fashion  of  suddenly  and 
violently  wiggling  one  or  the  other  or  both  of  their 
little  ears  in  ridiculous  contrast  to  the  fixed  stare  of 
their  bung  eyes.  Generally  they  had  nothing  to  say 
as  to  the  situation,  though  occasionally  some  exas- 
perated old  codger  would  utter  a  grumbling  bellow 

The  ground  vegetation  for  a  good  quarter  mile 
from  the  river  bank  was  entirely  destroyed,  and  the 
earth  beaten  and  packed  hard  by  these  animals. 

323 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

Landing  trails  had  been  made  leading  out  from  the 
water  by  easy  and  regular  grades.  These  trails 
were  about  two  feet  wide  and  worn  a  foot  or  so  deep. 
They  differed  from  the  rhino  trails,  from  which  they 
could  be  easily  distinguished,  in  that  they  showed 
distinctly  two  parallel  tracks  separated  from  each 
other  by  a  slight  ridge.  In  other  words,  the  hippo 
waddles.  These  trails  we  found  as  far  as  four  and 
five  miles  inland.  They  were  used,  of  course,  only 
at  night;  and  led  invariably  to  lush  and  heavy  feed. 
While  we  were  encamped  there,  the  country  on  our 
side  the  river  was  not  used  by  our  particular  herd 
of  hippos.  One  night,  however,  we  were  awakened 
by  a  tremendous  rending  crash  of  breaking  bushes, 
followed  by  an  instant's  silence  and  then  the  out- 
break of  a  babel  of  voices.  Then  we  heard  a  pro- 
longed sw-i-sh-sh-sh,  exactly  like  the  launching  of  a 
big  boat.  A  hippo  had  blundered  out  the  wrong 
side  the  river,  and  fairly  into  our  camp. 

In  rivers  such  as  the  Tana  these  great  beasts  are 
most  extraordinarily  abundant.  Directly  in  front 
of  our  camp,  for  example,  were  three  separate  herds 
which  contained  respectively  about  sixty,  forty,  and 
twenty-five  head.  Within  two  miles  below  camp 
were  three  other  big  pools  each  with  its  population; 
while  a  walk  of  a  mile  above  showed  about  as  many 
more.  This  sort  of  thing  obtained  for  practically 

324 


"Funny  Face." 


w 
I 

-t-> 

< 


THE  HIPPO  POOL 

the  whole  length  of  the  river — hundreds  of  miles. 
Furthermore,  every  little  tributary  stream,  no  mat- 
ter how  small,  provided  it  can  muster  a  pool  or  so 
deep  enough  to  submerge  so  large  an  animal,  has 
its  faithful  band.  I  have  known  of  a  hippo  quite 
happily  occupying  a  ditch  pool  ten  feet  wide  and 
fifteen  feet  long.  There  was  literally  not  room 
enough  for  the  beast  to  turn  around;  he  had  to  go 
in  at  one  end  and  out  at  the  other!  Each  lake,  too, 
is  alive  with  them:  and  both  lakes  and  rivers  are 
many. 

Nobody  disturbs  hippos,  save  for  trophies  and  an 
occasional  supply  of  meat  for  the  men,  or  of  cooking 
fat  for  the  kitchen.  Therefore  they  wax  fat  and 
sassy,  and  will  long  continue  to  flourish  in  the  land. 

It  takes  time  to  kill  a  hippo,  provided  one  is 
wanted.  The  mark  is  small,  and  generally  it  is  im- 
possible to  tell  whether  or  not  the  bullet  has  reached 
the  brain.  Harmed  or  whole  the  beast  sinks  any- 
way. Some  hours  later  the  distention  of  the  stom- 
ach will  float  the  body.  Therefore  the  only  decent 
way  to  do  is  to  take  the  shot,  and  then  wait  a  half 
day  to  see  whether  or  not  you  have  missed.  There 
are  always  plenty  of  volunteers  in  camp  to  watch 
the  pool,  for  the  boys  are  extravagantly  fond  of 
hippo  meat.  Then  it  is  necessary  to  manoeuvre  a 
rope  on  the  carcass,  often  a  matter  of  great  difficulty, 

325 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

for  the  other  hippos  bellow  and  snort  and  generally 
try  to  live  up  to  the  circus  posters  of  the  Blood- 
sweating  Behemoth  of  Holy  Writ,  and  the  crocodiles 
like  dark  meat  very  much.  Usually  one  offers  es- 
pecial reward  to  volunteers,  and  shoots  into  the 
water  to  frighten  the  beasts.  The  volunteer  dashes 
rapidly  across  the  shallows,  makes  a  swift  plunge, 
and  clambers  out  on  the  floating  body  as  onto  a  raft. 

Then  he  makes  fast  the  rope,  and  everybody  tails  on 
and  tows  the  whole  outfit  ashore.  On  one  occasion 
the  volunteer  produced  a  fish  line  and  actually 
caught  a  small  fish  from  the  floating  carcass!  This 
sounds  like  a  good  one;  but  I  saw  it  with  my  own 
two  eyes. 

It  was  at  the  hippo  pool  camp  that  we  first  be- 
came acquainted  with  Funny  Face. 

Funny  Face  was  the  smallest,  furriest  little  soft 
monkey  you  ever  saw.  I  never  cared  for  monkeys 
before;  but  this  one  was  altogether  engaging.  He 
had  thick  soft  fur  almost  like  that  on  a  Persian  cat, 
and  a  tiny  human  black  face,  and  hands  that  emerged 
from  a  ruff ;  and  he  was  about  as  big  as  old-fashioned 
dolls  used  to  be  before  they  began  to  try  to  imitate 
real  babies  with  them.  That  is  to  say,  he  was 
that  big  when  we  said  farewell  to  him.  When  we 
first  knew  him,  had  he  stood  in  a  half  pint  measure 
he  could  just  have  seen  over  the  rim.  We  caught 

326 


THE  HIPPO  POOL 

him  in  a  little  thorn  ravine  all  by  himself,  a  fact  that 
perhaps  indicates  that  his  mother  had  been  killed, 
or  perhaps  that  he,  like  a  good  little  Funny  Face,  was 
merely  staying  where  he  was  told  while  she  was 
away.  At  any  rate  he  fought  savagely,  according 
to  his  small  powers.  We  took  him  ignominiously 
by  the  scruff  of  the  neck,  haled  him  to  camp,  and 
dumped  him  down  on  Billy.  Billy  constructed  him 
a  beautiful  belt  by  sacrificing  part  of  a  kodak  strap 
(mine),  and  tied  him  to  a  chop  box  filled  with  dry 
grass.  Thenceforth  this  became  Funny  Face's  cas- 
tle, at  home  and  on  the  march. 

Within  a  few  hours  his  confidence  in  life  was  re- 
stored. He  accepted  small  articles  of  food  from  our 
hands,  eying  us  intently,  retired  and  examined 
them.  As  they  all  proved  desirable,  he  rapidly  came 
to  the  conclusion  that  these  new  large  strange  mon- 
keys, while  not  so  beautiful  and  agile  as  his  own 
people,  were  nevertheless  a  good  sort  after  all. 
Therefore  he  took  us  into  his  confidence.  By  next 
day  he  was  quite  tame,  would  submit  to  being  picked 
up  without  struggling,  and  had  ceased  trying  to  take 
an  end  off  our  various  fingers.  In  fact  when  the 
finger  was  presented,  he  would  seize  it  in  both  small 
black  hands;  convey  it  to  his  mouth;  give  it  several 
mild  and  gentle  love-chews;  and  then,  clasping  it 
with  all  four  hands,  would  draw  himself  up  like  a 

327 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

little  athlete  and  seat  himself  upright  on  the  out- 
spread palm.  Thence  he  would  survey  the  world, 
wrinkling  up  his  tiny  brow. 

This  chastened  and  scholarly  attitude  of  mind 
lasted  for  four  or  five  days.  Then  Funny  Face  con- 
cluded that  he  understood  all  about  it,  had  settled 
satisfactorily  to  himself  all  the  problems  of  the  world 
and  his  relations  to  it,  and  had  arrived  at  a  good 
working  basis  for  life.  Therefore  these  questions 
ceased  to  occupy  him.  He  dismissed  them  from  his 
mind  completely,  and  gave  himself  over  to  light- 
hearted  frivolity. 

His  disposition  was  flighty  but  full  of  elusive  charm. 
You  deprecated  his  lack  of  serious  purpose  in  life, 
disapproved  heartily  of  his  irresponsibility,  but  you 
fell  to  his  engaging  qualities.  He  was  a  typical 
example  of  the  lovable  good-for-naught.  Nothing 
retained  his  attention  for  two  consecutive  min- 
utes. If  he  seized  a  nut  and  started  for  his  chop 
box  with  it,  the  chances  were  he  would  drop  it  and 
forget  all  about  it  in  the  interest  excited  by  a  crawl- 
ing ant  or  the  colour  of  a  flower.  His  elfish  face  was 
always  alight  with  the  play  of  emotions  and  of 
flashing  changing  interests.  He  was  greatly  given 
to  starting  off  on  very  important  errands,  which  he 
forgot  before  he  arrived. 

In  this  he  contrasted  strangely  with  his  friend 
328 


THE  HIPPO  POOL 

Darwin.  Darwin  was  another  monkey  of  the  same 
species,  caught  about  a  week  later.  Darwin's  face 
was  sober  and  pondering,  and  his  methods  direct 
and  effective.  No  side  excursions  into  the  briU 
liant  though  evanescent  fields  of  fancy  diverted 
him  from  his  ends.  These  were,  generally,  to  get 
the  most  and  best  food  and  the  warmest  corner  for 
sleep.  When  he  had  acquired  a  nut,  a  kernel  of 
corn,  or  a  piece  of  fruit,  he  sat  him  down  and  ex- 
amined it  thoroughly  and  conscientiously  and  then, 
conscientiously  and  thoroughly,  he  devoured  it. 
No  extraneous  interest  could  distract  his  attention; 
not  for  a  moment.  That  he  had  sounded  the  seri- 
ousness of  life  is  proved  by  the  fact  that  he  had  ob- 
served and  understood  the  flighty  character  of  Funny 
Face.  When  Funny  Face  acquired  a  titbit,  Darwin 
took  up  a  hump-backed  position  near  at  hand,  his 
bright  little  eyes  fixed  on  his  friend's  activities. 
Funny  Face  would  nibble  relishingly  at  his  prune 
for  a  moment  or  so;  then  an  altogether  astonishing 
butterfly  would  flitter  by  just  overhead.  Funny 
Face,  lost  in  ecstasy  would  gaze  skyward  after  the 
departing  marvel.  This  was  Darwin's  opportunity. 
In  two  hops  he  was  at  Funny  Face's  side.  With 
great  deliberation,  but  most  businesslike  directness, 
Darwin  disengaged  Funny  Face's  unresisting  fingers 
from  the  prune,  seized  it,  and  retired.  Funny  Face 

329 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

never  knew  it:  his  soul  was  far  away  after  the 
blazoned  wonder,  and  when  it  returned,  it  was  not 
to  prunes  at  all.  They  were  forgotten,  and  his 
wandering  eye  focussed  back  to  a  bright  button  in 
the  grass.  Thus  by  strict  attention  to  business  did 
Darwin  prosper. 

Darwin's  attitude  was  always  serious,  and  his 
expression  grave.  When  he  condescended  to  romp 
with  Funny  Face  one  could  see  that  it  was  not  for 
the  mere  joy  of  sport;  but  for  the  purposes  of  re- 
laxation. If  offered  a  gift  he  always  examined  it 
seriously  before  finally  accepting  it,  turning  it  over 
and  over  in  his  hands,  and  considering  it  with  wrin- 
kled brow.  If  you  offered  anything  to  Funny  Face, 
no  matter  what,  he  dashed  up,  seized  it  on  the  fly, 
departed  at  speed  uttering  grateful  low  chatter- 
ings;  probably  dropped  and  forgot  it  in  the  excite- 
ment of  something  new  before  he  had  even  looked 
to  see  what  it  was. 

"These  people,"  said  Darwin  to  himself,  "on  the 
whole,  and  as  an  average,  seem  to  give  me  appropri- 
ate and  pleasing  gifts.  To  be  sure,  it  is  always  well 
to  see  that  they  don't  try  to  bunco  me  with  olive 
stones  or  such  worthless  trash,  but  still  I  believe  they 
are  worth  cultivating  and  standing  in  with." 

"It  strikes  me,"  observed  Funny  Face  to  him- 
self, "that  my  adorable  Memsahib  and  my  beloved 

33° 


THE  HIPPO  POOL 

bwana  have  been  very  kind  to  me  to-day,  though  I 
don't  remember  precisely  how.  But  I  certainly  do 
love  them!" 

We  cut  good  sized  holes  on  each  of  the  four  sides 
of  their  chop  box  to  afford  them  ventilation  on  the 
march.  The  box  was  always  carried  on  one  of  the 
safari  boy's  heads:  and  Funny  Face  and  Darwin 
gazed  forth  with  great  interest.  It  was  very  amus- 
ing to  see  —  the  big  negro  striding  jauntily  along 
under  his  light  burden;  the  large  brown  winking 
eyes  glued  to  two  of  the  apertures.  When  we  ar- 
rived in  camp  and  threw  the  box  cover  open,  they 
hopped  forth,  shook  themselves,  examined  their 
immediate  surroundings  and  proceeded  to  take  a 
little  exercise.  When  anything  alarmed  them,  such 
as  the  shadow  of  a  passing  hawk,  they  skittered 
madly  up  the  nearest  thing  in  sight  —  tent  pole,  tree, 
or  human  form;  and  scolded  indignantly  or  chittered 
in  a  low  tone  according  to  the  degree  of  their  terror. 
When  Funny  Face  was  very  young,  indeed,  the 
grass  near  camp  caught  fire.  After  the  excitement 
was  over  we  found  him  completely  buried  in  the 
straw  of  his  box,  crouched,  and  whimpering  like 
a  child.  As  he  could  hardly,  at  his  tender  age,  have 
had  any  previous  experience  with  fire,  this  instinctive 
fear  was  to  me  very  interesting. 

The  monkeys  had  only  one  genuine  enemy.     That 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

was  an  innocent  plush  lion  named  Little  Simba.  It 
had  been  given  us  in  joke  before  we  left  California, 
we  had  tucked  it  into  an  odd  corner  of  our  trunk, 
had  discovered  it  there,  carried  it  on  safari  out  of 
sheer  idleness,  and  lo!  it  had  become  an  important 
member  of  the  expedition.  Every  morning  Maho- 
met or  Yusuf  packed  it  —  or  rather  him  —  carefully 
away  in  the  tin  box.  Promptly  at  the  end  of  the 
day's  march  Little  Simba  was  haled  forth  and  set  in 
a  place  of  honour  in  the  centre  of  the  table,  and 
reigned  there  —  or  sometimes  in  a  little  grass  jungle 
constructed  by  his  faithful  servitors  —  until  the 
march  was  again  resumed.  His  job  in  life  was  to 
look  after  our  hunting  luck.  When  he  failed  to  get 
us  what  we  wanted,  he  was  punished:  when  he  pro- 
cured us  what  we  desired  he  was  rewarded  by  having 
his  tail  sewed  on  afresh,  or  by  being  presented  with 
new  black  thread  whiskers,  or  even  a  tiny  blanket  of 
'Mericani  against  the  cold.  This  last  was  an  especial 
favour  for  finally  getting  us  the  greater  kudu. 
Naturally  as  we  did  all  this  in  the  spirit  of  an  idle 
joke  our  rewards  and  punishments  were  rather  des- 
ultory. To  our  surprise,  however,  we  soon  found 
that  our  boys  took  Little  Simba  quite  serious- 
ly. He  was  a  fetish,  a  little  god,  a  power  of  good 
or  bad  luck.  We  did  not  appreciate  this  point 
until  one  evening,  after  a  rather  disappointing 

332 


The  dik-dik— smallest  of  antelope. 


'-**  - 


Typical  African  ant  hills. 


THE  HIPPO  POOL 

day,  Mahomet  came  to  us  bearing  Little  Simba  in 
his  hand. 

"Bwana,"  said  he  respectfully,  "is  it  enough  that 
I  shut  Simba  in  the  tin  box,  or  do  you  wish  to  flog 
him?" 

On  one  very  disgraceful  occasion,  when  every- 
thing went  wrong,  we  plucked  Little  Simba  from  his 
high  throne  and  with  him  made  a  beautiful  drop- 
kick  out  into  the  tall  grass.  There,  in  a  loud  tone  of 
voice,  we  sternly  bade  him  lie  until  the  morrow.  The 
camp  was  bung-eyed.  It  is  not  given  to  every 
people  to  treat  its  gods  in  such  fashion:  indeed,  in 
very  deed,  great  is  the  white  man !  To  be  fair,  having 
published  Little  Simba's  disgrace,  we  should  pub- 
lish also  Little  Simba's  triumph:  to  tell  how,  at  the 
end  of  a  certain  very  lucky  three  months'  safari  he 
was  perched  atop  a  pole  and  carried  into  town  tri- 
umphantly at  the  head  of  a  howling,  singing  pro- 
cession of  a  hundred  men.  He  returned  to  America, 
and  now,  having  retired  from  active  professional  life, 
is  leading  an  honoured  old  age  among  the  trophies 
he  helped  to  procure. 

Funny  Face  first  met  Little  Simba  when  on  an 
early  investigating  tour.  With  considerable  dif- 
ficulty he  had  shinned  up  the  table  leg,  and  had 
hoisted  himself  over  the  awkwardly  projecting  table 
edge.  When  almost  within  reach  of  the  fascinating 

333 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

affairs  displayed  atop,  he  looked  straight  up  into  the 
face  of  Little  Simba!  Funny  Face  shrieked  aloud, 
let  go  all  holds  and  fell  off  flat  on  his  back.  Re- 
covering immediately,  he  climbed  just  as  high  as  he 
could,  and  proceeded,  during  the  next  hour,  to  re- 
lieve his  feelings  by  the  most  insulting  chatterings 
and  grimaces.  He  never  recovered  from  this  initial 
experience.  All  that  was  necessary  to  evoke  all 
sorts  of  monkey  talk  was  to  produce  Little  Simba. 
Against  his  benign  plush  front  then  broke  a  storm  of 
remonstrance.  He  became  the  object  of  slow  ad- 
vances and  sudden  scurrying,  shrieking  retreats, 
that  lasted  just  as  long  as  he  stayed  there,  and  never 
got  any  farther  than  a  certain  quite  conservative 
point.  Little  Simba  did  not  mind.  He  was  too 
busy  being  a  god. 


334 


XXIV 
THE  BUFFALO 

THE  Cape  Buffalo  is  one  of  the  four  dangerous 
kinds  of  African  big  game;  of  which  the  other 
three  are  the  lion,  the  rhinoceros,  and  the  elephant. 
These  latter  are  familiar  to  us  in  zoological  gardens, 
although  the  African  —  and  larger  —  form  of  the 
rhinoceros  and  elephant  are  seldom  or  never  seen 
in  captivity.  But  buffaloes  are  as  yet  unrepresented 
in  our  living  collections.  They  are  huge  beasts,  tre- 
mendous from  any  point  of  view,  whether  considered 
in  height,  in  mass,  or  in  power.  At  the  shoulder 
they  stand  from  just  under  five  feet  to  just  under 
six  feet  in  height;  they  are  short  legged,  heavy  bodied 
bull  necked,  thick  in  every  dimension.  In  colour 
they  are  black  as  to  hair,  and  slate  gray  as  to  skin; 
so  that  the  individual  impression  depends  on  the 
thickness  of  the  coat.  They  wear  their  horns  parted 
in  the  middle,  sweeping  smoothly  away  in  the  curves 
of  two  great  bosses  either  side  the  head.  A  good 
trophy  will  measure  in  spread  from  forty  inches  to 
four  feet.  Four  men  will  be  required  to  carry  in  the 

335 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

head  alone.  As  buffaloes  when  disturbed  or  sus- 
picious have  a  habit  of  thrusting  their  noses  up  and 
forward,  that  position  will  cling  to  one's  memory  as 
the  most  typical  of  the  species. 

A  great  many  hunters  rank  the  buffalo  first  among 
the  dangerous  beasts.  This  is  not  my  own  opinion, 
but  he  is  certainly  dangerous  enough.  He  possesses 
the  size,  power,  and  truculence  of  the  rhinoceros, 
together  with  all  that  animal's  keenness  of  scent  and 
hearing  but  with  a  sharpness  of  vision  the  rhinoceros 
has  not.  While  not  as  clever  as  either  the  lion  or 
the  elephant,  he  is  tricky  enough  when  angered  to 
circle  back  for  the  purpose  of  attacking  his  pursuers 
in  the  rear  or  flank,  and  to  arrange  rather  ingenious 
ambushes  for  the  same  purpose.  He  is  rather  more 
tenacious  of  life  than  the  rhinoceros,  and  will  carry 
away  an  extraordinary  quantity  of  big  bullets.  Add 
to  these  considerations  the  facts  that  buffaloes  go  in 
herds;  and  that,  barring  luck,  chances  are  about 
even  they  will  have  to  be  followed  into  the  thickest 
cover,  it  can  readily  be  seen  that  their  pursuit  is 
exciting. 

The  problem  would  be  simplified  were  one  able 
or  willing  to  slip  into  the  thicket  or  up  to  the  grazing 
herd  and  kill  the  nearest  beast  that  offers.  As  a 
matter  of  fact  an  ordinary  herd  will  contain  only 
two  or  three  bulls  worth  shooting;  and  it  is  the  hun- 

336 


THE  BUFFALO 

ter's  delicate  task  to  glide  and  crawl  here  and  there, 
with  due  regard  for  sight,  scent  and  sound,  until  he 
has  picked  one  of  these  from  the  scores  of  undesir- 
ables. Many  times  will  he  worm  his  way  by  inches 
toward  the  great  black  bodies  half  defined  in  the 
screen  of  thick  undergrowth  only  to  find  that  he 
has  stalked  cows  or  small  bulls.  Then  inch  by  inch 
he  must  back  out  again,  unable  to  see  twenty  yards 
to  either  side,  guiding  himself  by  the  probabilities 
of  the  faint  chance  breezes  in  the  thicket.  To  right 
and  left  he  hears  the  quiet  continued  crop,  crop,  crop, 
sound  of  animals  grazing.  The  sweat  runs  down  his 
face  in  streams,  and  blinds  his  eyes,  but  only  occa- 
sionally and  with  the  utmost  caution  can  he  raise  his 
hand  —  or,  better,  lower  his  head  —  to  clear  his 
vision.  When  at  last  he  has  withdrawn  from  the 
danger  zone,  he  wipes  his  face,  takes  a  drink  from  the 
canteen,  and  tries  again.  Sooner  or  later  his  pres- 
ence comes  to  the  notice  of  some  old  cow.  Be- 
hind the  leafy  screen  where  unsuspected  she  has 
been  standing  comes  the  most  unexpected  and  heart- 
jumping  crash!  Instantly  the  jungle  all  about  roars 
into  life.  The  great  bodies  of  the  alarmed  beasts 
hurl  themselves  through  the  thicket,  smash!  bang! 
crash!  smash!  as  though  a  tornado  were  uprooting  the 
forest.  Then  abruptly  a  complete  silence!  This 
lasts  but  ten  seconds  or  so;  then  off  rushes  the  wild 

337 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

stampede  in  another  direction;  only  again  to  come  to 
a  listening  halt  of  breathless  stillness.  So  the  hunter, 
unable  to  see  anything,  and  feeling  very  small, 
huddles  with  his  gunbearers  in  a  compact  group, 
listening  to  the  wild  surging  short  rushes,  now  this 
way,  now  that,  hoping  that  the  stampede  may  not 
run  over  him.  If  by  chance  it  does,  he  has  his  two 
shots  and  the  possibility  of  hugging  a  tree  while  the 
rush  divides  around  him.  The  latter  is  the  most 
likely;  a  single  buffalo  is  hard  enough  to  stop  with 
two  shots,  let  alone  a  herd.  And  yet,  sometimes,  the 
mere  flash  and  noise  will  suffice  to  turn  them,  pro- 
vided they  are  not  actually  trying  to  attack,  but 
only  rushing  indefinitely  about.  Probably  a  man 
can  experience  few  more  thrilling  moments  than  he 
will  enjoy  standing  in  one  of  the  small  leafy  rooms  of 
an  African  jungle  while  several  hundred  tons  of 
buffalo  crash  back  and  forth  all  around  him. 

In  the  best  of  circumstances  it  is  only  rarely  that, 
having  identified  his  big  bull,  the  hunter  can  deliver 
a  knockdown  blow.  The  beast  is  extraordinarily 
vital,  and  in  addition  it  is  exceedingly  difficult  to  get 
a  fair,  open  shot.  Then  from  the  danger  of  being 
trampled  down  by  the  blind  and  senseless  stampede 
of  the  herd  he  passes  to  the  more  defined  peril  from 
an  angered  and  cunning  single  animal.  The  major- 
ity of  fatalities  in  hunting  buffaloes  happen  while 

338 


THE  BUFFALO 

following  wounded  beasts.  A  flank  charge  at  close 
range  may  catch  the  most  experienced  man;  and 
even  when  clearly  seen,  it  is  difficult  to  stop.  The 
buffalo's  wide  bosses  are  a  helmet  to  his  brain,  and 
the  body  shot  is  always  chancy.  The  beast  tosses 
his  victim,  or  tramples  him,  or  pushes  him  against 
a  tree  to  crush  him  like  a  fly. 

He  who  would  get  his  trophy,  however,  is  not 
always  —  perhaps  is  not  generally  —  forced  into 
the  thicket  to  get  it.  When  not  much  disturbed, 
buffaloes  are  in  the  habit  of  grazing  out  into  the  open 
just  before  dark;  and  of  returning  to  their  thicket 
cover  only  well  after  sunrise.  If  the  hunter  can  ar- 
range to  meet  his  herd  at  such  a  time,  he  stands  a 
very  good  chance  of  getting  a  clear  shot.  The  job 
then  requires  merely  ordinary  caution  and  ma- 
noeuvring; and  the  only  danger,  outside  the  ever- 
present  one  from  the  wounded  beast,  is  that  the 
herd  may  charge  over  him  deliberately.  Therefore 
it  is  well  to  keep  out  of  sight. 

The  difficulty  generally  is  to  locate  your  beasts. 
They  wander  all  night,  and  must  be  blundered  upon 
in  the  early  morning  before  they  have  drifted  back 
into  the  thickets.  Sometimes,  by  sending  skilled 
trackers  in  several  directions,  they  can  be  traced  to 
where  they  have  entered  cover.  A  messenger  then 
brings  the  white  man  to  the  place,  and  every  one 

339 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

tries  to  guess  at  what  spot  the  buffaloes  are  likely  to 
emerge  for  their  evening  stroll.  It  is  remarkably 
easy  to  make  a  wrong,  guess;  and  the  remaining 
daylight  is  rarely  sufficient  to  repair  a  mistake.  And 
also,  in  the  case  of  a  herd  ranging  a  wide  country 
with  much  tall  grass  and  several  drinking  holes,  it 
is  rather  difficult,  without  very  good  luck,  to  locate 
them  on  any  given  night  or  morning.  A  few  herds, 
a  very  few,  may  have  fixed  habits,  and  so  prove 
easy  hunting. 

These  difficulties,  while  in  no  way  formidable,  are 
real  enough  in  their  small  way;  but  they  are  im- 
mensely increased  when  the  herds  have  been  often 
disturbed.  Disturbance  need  not  necessarily  mean 
shooting.  In  countries  unvisited  by  white  men  often 
the  pastoral  natives  will  so  annoy  the  buffalo  by 
shoutings  and  other  means,  whenever  they  appear 
near  the  tame  cattle,  that  the  huge  beasts  will  be- 
come practically  nocturnal.  In  that  case  only  the 
rankest  luck  will  avail  to  get  a  man  a  chance  in  the 
open.  The  herds  cling  to  cover  until  after  sundown 
and  just  at  dusk;  and  they  return  again  very  soon 
after  the  first  streaks  of  dawn.  If  the  hunter  just 
happens  to  be  at  the  exact  spot,  he  may  get  a  twi- 
light shot  when  the  glimmering  ivory  of  his  front 
sight  is  barely  visible.  Otherwise  he  must  go  into 
the  thicket. 

34* 


THE  BUFFALO 

As  an  illustration  of  the  first  condition  might  be 
instanced  an  afternoon  on  the  Tana.  The  weather 
was  very  hot.  We  had  sent  three  lots  of  men  out 
in  different  directions,  each  under  the  leadership  of 
one  of  the  gunbearers,  to  scout,  while  we  took  it  easy 
in  the  shade  of  our  banda,  or  grass  shelter,  on  the 
bank  of  the  river.  About  one  o'clock  a  messenger 
came  into  camp  reporting  that  the  men  under  Mav- 
rouki  had  traced  a  herd  to  its  lying-down  place. 
We  took  our  heavy  guns  and  started. 

The  way  led  through  thin  scrub  up  the  long  slope 
of  a  hill  that  broke  on  the  other  side  into  undulating 
grass  ridges  that  ended  in  a  range  of  hills.  These 
were  about  four  or  five  miles  distant,  and  thinly 
wooded  on  sides  and  lower  slopes  with  what  resem- 
bled a  small  live-oak  growth.  Among  these  trees, 
our  guide  told  us,  the  buffalo  had  first  been  sighted. 

The  sun  was  very  hot,  and  all  the  animals  were 
still.  We  saw  impalla  in  the  scrub,  and  many  gi- 
raffes and  bucks  on  the  plains.  After  an  hour  and  a 
half's  walk  we  entered  the  parklike  groves  at  the 
foot  of  the  hills,  and  our  guide  began  to  proceed 
more  cautiously.  He  moved  forward  a  few  feet, 
peered  about,  retraced  his  steps.  Suddenly  his 
face  broke  into  a  broad  grin.  Following  his  indi- 
cation we  looked  up,  and  there  in  a  tree  almost  above 
us  roosted  one  of  our  boys  sound  asleep!  We 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

whistled  at  him.  Thereupon  he  awoke,  tried  to 
look  very  alert,  and  pointed  in  the  direction  we 
should  go.  After  an  interval  we  picked  up  another 
sentinel,  and  another,  and  another  until,  passed 
on  thus  from  one  to  the  next,  we  traced  the  move- 
ments of  the  herd.  Finally  we  came  upon  Mav- 
rouki  and  Simba  under  a  bush.  From  them,  in 
whispers,  we  learned  that  the  buffalo  were  karibu 
sana  —  very  near;  that  they  had  fed  this  far,  and 
were  now  lying  in  the  long  grass  just  ahead.  Leav- 
ing the  men,  we  now  continued  our  forward  move- 
ment on  hands  and  knees,  in  single  file.  It  was  very 
hot  work,  for  the  sun  beat  square  down  on  us,  and 
the  tall  grass  kept  off  every  breath  of  air.  Every 
few  moments  we  rested,  lying  on  our  faces.  Oc- 
casionally, when  the  grass  shortened,  or  the  slant 
of  ground  tended  to  expose  us,  we  lay  quite  flat  and 
hitched  forward  an  inch  at  a  time  by  the  strength 
of  our  toes.  This  was  very  severe  work  indeed,  and 
we  were  drenched  in  perspiration.  In  fact,  as  I  had 
been  feeling  quite  ill  all  day,  it  became  rather  doubt- 
ful whether  I  could  stand  the  pace. 

However  after  a  while  we  managed  to  drop  down 
into  an  eroded  deep  little  ravine.  Here  the  air  was 
like  that  of  a  furnace,  but  at  least  we  could  walk  up- 
right for  a  few  rods.  This  we  did,  with  the  most  ex- 
traordinary precautions  against  even  the  breaking 

342 


THE  BUFFALO 

of  a  twig  or  the  rolling  of  a  pebble.  Then  we  clam- 
bered to  the  top  of  the  bank,  wormed  our  way  for- 
ward another  fifty  feet  to  the  shelter  of  a  tiny  bush, 
and  stretched  out  to  recuperate.  We  lay  there  some 
time,  sheltered  from  the  sun.  Then  ahead  of  us 
suddenly  rumbled  a  deep  bellow.  We  were  fairly 
upon  the  herd! 

Cautiously  F.  who  was  nearest  the  centre  of  the 
bush,  raised  himself  alongside  the  stem  to  look.  He 
could  see  where  the  beasts  were  lying,  not  fifty  yards 
away,  but  he  could  make  out  nothing  but  the  fact 
of  great  black  bodies  taking  their  ease  in  the  grass 
under  the  shade  of  trees.  So  much  he  reported  to 
us;  then  rose  again  to  keep  watch. 

Thus  we  waited  the  rest  of  the  afternoon.  The 
sun  dipped  at  last  toward  the  west,  a  faint  irregular 
breeze  wandered  down  from  the  hills,  certain  birds 
awoke  and  uttered  their  clear  calls,  an  unsuspected 
kongoni  stepped  from  the  shade  of  a  tree  over  the 
way  and  began  to  crop  the  grass,  the  shadows  were 
lengthening  through  the  trees.  Then  ahead  of  us  an 
uneasiness  ran  through  the  herd.  We  in  the  grass 
could  hear  the  mutterings  and  grumblings  of  many 
great  animals.  Suddenly  F.  snapped  his  fingers, 
stooped  low  and  darted  forward.  We  scrambled  to 
our  feet  and  followed. 

Across  a  short  open  space  we  ran,  bent  double,  to 

343 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

the  shelter  of  a  big  ant  hill.  Peering  over  the  top  of 
this  we  found  ourselves  within  sixty  yards  of  a  long 
compact  column  of  the  great  black  beasts,  moving 
forward  orderly  to  the  left,  the  points  of  the  cow's 
horns,  curved  up  and  in,  tossing  slowly  as  the  ani- 
mals walked.  On  the  flank  of  the  herd  was  a  big 
gray  bull. 

It  had  been  agreed  that  B.  was  to  have  the  shot. 
Therefore  he  opened  fire  with  his  405  Winchester, 
a  weapon  altogether  too  light  for  this  sort  of  work. 
At  the  shot  the  herd  dashed  forward  to  an  open  grass 
meadow  a  few  rods  away,  wheeled  and  faced  back 
in  a  compact  mass,  their  noses  thrust  up  and  out  in 
their  typical  fashion,  trying  with  all  their  senses  to 
locate  the  cause  of  the  disturbance. 

Taking  advantage  both  of  the  scattered  cover, 
and  the  half  light  of  the  shadows  we  slipped  forward 
as  rapidly  and  as  unobtrusively  as  we  could  to  the 
edge  of  the  grass  meadow.  Here  we  came  to  a  stand 
eighty  yards  from  the  buffaloes.  They  stood  com- 
pactly like  a  herd  of  cattle,  staring,  tossing  their 
heads,  moving  slightly,  their  wild  eyes  searching  for 
us.  I  saw  several  good  bulls,  but  always  they  moved 
where  it  was  impossible  to  shoot  without  danger  of 
getting  the  wrong  beast.  Finally  my  chance  came; 
I  planted  a  pair  of  Holland  bullets  in  the  shoulder  of 
one  of  them. 

344 


THE  BUFFALO 

The  herd  broke  away  to  the  right,  sweeping  past 
us  at  close  range.  My  bull  ran  thirty  yards  with 
them,  then  went  down  stone  dead.  When  we  ex- 
amined him  we  found  the  hole  made  by  B.'s  Win- 
chester bullet;  so  that  quite  unintentionally  and  by 
accident  I  had  fired  at  the  same  beast.  This  was 
lucky.  The  trophy,  by  hunter's  law,  of  course,  be- 
longed to  B. 

Therefore  F.  and  I  alone  followed  on  after  the 
herd.  It  was  now  coming  on  dusk.  Within  a  hun- 
dred yards  we  began  to  see  scattered  beasts.  The 
formation  of  the  herd  had  broken.  Some  had  gone 
on  in  flight,  while  others  in  small  scattered  groups 
would  stop  to  stare  back,  and  would  then  move 
slowly  on  for  a  few  paces  before  stopping  again. 
Among  these  I  made  out  a  bull  facing  us  about  a 
hundred  and  twenty-five  yards  away,  and  managed 
to  stagger  him,  but  could  not  bring  him  down. 

Now  occurred  an  incident  which  I  should  hesitate  to 
relate  were  it  not  that  both  F.  and  myself  saw  it.  We 
have  since  talked  it  over,  compared  our  recollections, 
and  found  them  to  coincide  in  every  particular. 

As  we  moved  cautiously  in  pursuit  of  the  slowly 
retreating  herd  three  cows  broke  back  and  came  run- 
ning down  past  us.  We  ducked  aside  and  hid,  of 
course,  but  noticed  that  of  the  three  two  were  very 
young,  while  one  was  so  old  that  she  had  become 

345 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

fairly  emaciated,  a  very  unusual  thing  with  buffaloes. 
We  then  followed  the  herd  for  twenty  minutes,  or 
until  twilight,  when  we  turned  back.  About  half- 
way down  the  slope  we  again  met  the  three  cows, 
returning.  They  passed  us  within  twenty  yards, 
but  paid  us  no  attention  whatever.  The  old  cow 
was  coming  along  very  reluctantly,  hanging  back  at 
every  step,  and  every  once  in  a  while  swinging  her 
head  viciously  at  one  or  the  other  of  her  two  com- 
panions. These  escorted  her  on  either  side,  and  a 
little  to  the  rear.  They  were  plainly  urging  her 
forward,  and  did  not  hesitate  to  dig  her  in  the  ribs 
with  their  horns  whenever  she  turned  especially  ob- 
stinate. In  fact  they  acted  exactly  like  a  pair  of  cow- 
boys herding  a  recalcitrant  animal  back  to  its  band : 
and  I  have  no  doubt  at  all  that  when  they  first  dashed 
by  us  the  old  lady  was  making  a  break  for  liberty  in 
the  wrong  direction,  and  that  the  two  younger  cows 
were  trying  to  round  her  back!  Whether  they  were 
her  daughters  or  not  is  problematical;  but  it  cer- 
tainly seemed  that  they  were  taking  care  of  her  and 
trying  to  prevent  her  running  back  where  it  was 
dangerous  to  go.  I  never  heard  of  a  similar  case, 
though  Herbert  Ward*  mentions,  without  particulars 
that  elephants  and  buffaloes  will  assist  each  other 
when  wounded. 

*A  Voice  from  the  Congo. 

346 


THE  BUFFALO 

After  passing  these  we  returned  to  where  B.  and 
the  men,  who  had  now  come  up,  had  prepared  the 
dead  bull  for  transportation.  We  started  at  once, 
travelling  by  the  stars,  shouting  and  singing  to  dis- 
courage the  lions,  but  did  not  reach  camp  until  well 
into  the  night. 


347 


XXV 

THE  BUFFALO  —  continued 

SOME  months  later,  and  many  hundreds  of  miles 
farther  south,  Billy  and  I  found  ourselves  alone 
with  twenty  men,  and  two  weeks  to  pass  until  C. — 
our  companion  at  the  time  —  should  return  from  a 
long  journey  out  with  a  wounded  man.  By  slow 
stages,  and  relaying  back  and  forth,  we  landed  in  a 
valley  so  beautiful  in  every  way  that  we  resolved  to 
stay  as  long  as  possible.  This  could  be  but  five 
days  at  most.  At  the  end  of  that  time  we  must  start 
for  our  prearranged  rendezvous  with  C. 

The  valley  was  in  the  shape  of  an  ellipse,  two  sides 
of  which  were  formed  by  great  clifflike  mountains, 
and  the  other  two  by  hills  lower,  but  still  of  con- 
siderable boldness  and  size.  The  longest  radius  was 
perhaps  six  or  eight  miles,  and  the  shortest  three  or 
four.  At  one  end  a  canon  dropped  away  to  a  lower 
level,  and  at  the  other  a  pass  in  the  hills  gave  over 
to  the  country  of  the  Narossara  River.  The  name 
of  the  valley  was  Lengeetoto. 

From  the  great  mountains  flowed  many  brooks 
348 


THE  BUFFALO 

of  clear  sparkling  water,  that  ran  beneath  the  most 
beautiful  of  open  jungles,  to  unite  finally  in  one  main 
stream  that  disappeared  down  the  canon.  Between 
these  brooks  were  low  broad  rolling  hills,  sometimes 
grass  covered,  sometimes  grown  thinly  with  bushes. 
Where  they  headed  in  the  mountains,  long  stringers 
of  forest  trees  ran  up  to  blocklike  groves,  apparently 
pasted  like  wafers  against  the  base  of  the  cliffs,  but 
in  reality  occupying  spacious  slopes  below  them. 

We  decided  to  camp  at  the  foot  of  a  long  grass  slant 
within  a  hundred  yards  of  the  trees  along  one  of  the 
small  streams.  Before  us  we  had  the  sweep  of 
brown  grass  rising  to  a  clear  cut  skyline;  and  all 
about  us  the  distant  great  hills  behind  which  the 
day  dawned  and  fell.  One  afternoon  a  herd  of 
giraffes  stood  silhouetted  on  this  skyline  quite  a  half 
hour  gazing  curiously  down  on  our  camp.  Harte- 
beeste  and  zebra  swarmed  in  the  grassy  openings; 
and  impalla  in  the  brush.  We  saw  sing-sing  and 
steinbuck,  and  other  animals,  and  heard  lions  nearly 
every  night.  But  principally  we  elected  to  stay 
because  a  herd  of  buffaloes  ranged  the  foothills  and 
dwelt  in  the  groves  of  forest  trees  under  the  cliffs. 
We  wanted  a  buffalo;  and  as  Lengeetoto  is  prac- 
tically unknown  to  white  men,  we  thought  this  a 
good  chance  to  get  one.  In  that  I  reckoned  without 
the  fact  that  at  certain  seasons  the  Masai  bring 

349 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

their  cattle  in,  and  at  such  times  annoy  the  buffalo 
all  they  can. 

We  started  out  well  enough.  I  sent  Memba  Sasa 
with  two  men  to  locate  the  herd.  About  three 
o'clock  a  messenger  came  to  camp  after  me.  We 
plunged  through  our  own  jungle,  crossed  a  low  swell, 
traversed  another  jungle,  and  got  in  touch  with  the 
other  two  men.  They  reported  the  buffalo  had 
entered  the  thicket  a  few  hundred  yards  below  us. 
Cautiously  reconnoitring  the  ground  it  soon  became 
evident  that  we  would  be  forced  more  definitely  to 
locate  the  herd.  To  be  sure,  they  had  entered  the 
stream  jungle  at  a  known  point,  but  there  could  be 
no  telling  how  far  they  might  continue  in  the  thicket, 
nor  on  what  side  of  it  they  would  emerge  at  sundown. 
Therefore  we  commenced  cautiously  and  slowly  to 
follow  the  trail. 

The  going  was  very  thick,  naturally,  and  we  could 
not  see  very  far  ahead.  Our  object  was  not  now  to 
try  for  a  bull,  but  merely  to  find  where  the  herd  was 
feeding,  in  order  that  we  might  wait  for  it  to  come 
out.  However,  we  were  brought  to  a  stand,  in  the 
middle  of  a  jungle  of  green  leaves,  by  the  cropping 
sound  of  a  beast  grazing  just  the  other  side  of  a 
bush.  We  could  not  see  it,  and  we  stood  stock  still 
in  the  hope  of  escaping  discovery  ourselves.  But  an 
instant  later  a  sudden  crash  of  wood  told  us  we  had 

350 


THE  BUFFALO 

been  seen.  It  was  near  work.  The  gunbearers 
crouched  close  to  me.  I  held  the  heavy  double  gun 
ready.  If  the  beast  had  elected  to  charge  I  would 
have  had  less  than  ten  yards  within  which  to  stop 
it.  Fortunately  it  did  not  do  so.  But  instantly 
the  herd  was  afoot  and  off  at  full  speed.  A  loco- 
motive amuck  in  a  kindling  pile  could  have  made  no 
more  appalling  a  succession  of  rending  crashes  than 
did  those  heavy  animals  rushing  here  and  there 
through  the  thick  woody  growth.  We  could  see 
nothing.  Twice  the  rush  started  in  our  direction, 
but  stopped  as  suddenly  as  it  had  begun,  to  be  suc- 
ceeded by  absolute  stillness  when  everything,  our- 
selves included,  held  its  breath  to  listen.  Finally, 
the  first  panic  over,  the  herd  started  definitely  away 
downstream.  We  ran  as  fast  as  we  could  out  of  the 
jungle  to  a  commanding  position  on  the  hill.  Thence 
we  could  determine  the  course  of  the  herd.  It  con- 
tinued on  downstream  as  far  as  we  could  follow  the 
sounds  in  the  convolutions  of  the  hills.  Realizing 
that  it  would  improbably  recover  enough  from  its 
alarmed  condition  to  resume  its  regular  habits  that 
day,  we  returned  to  camp. 

Next  morning  Memba  Sasa  and  I  were  afield  before 
daylight.  We  took  no  other  men.  In  hunting  I 
am  a  strong  disbeliever  in  the  common  habit  of 
trailing  along  a  small  army.  It  is  simple  enough,  in 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

case  the  kill  is  made,  to  send  back  for  help.  No 
matter  how  skilful  your  men  are  at  stalking,  the 
chances  of  alarming  the  game  are  greatly  increased 
by  numbers;  while  the  possibilities  of  misunder- 
standing the  plan  of  campaign,  and  so  getting  into 
the  wrong  place  at  the  wrong  time,  are  infinite. 
Alone,  or  with  one  gunbearer,  a  man  can  slip  in  and 
out  a  herd  of  formidable  animals  with  the  least 
chances  of  danger.  Merely  going  out  after  camp 
meat  is  of  course  a  different  matter. 

We  did  not  follow  in  the  direction  taken  by  the 
herd  the  night  before,  but  struck  off  toward  the 
opposite  side  of  the  valley.  For  two  hours  we 
searched  the  wooded  country  at  the  base  of  the  cliff 
mountains,  working  slowly  around  the  circle,  examin- 
ing every  inlet,  ravine  and  gully.  Plenty  of  other 
sorts  of  game  we  saw,  including  elephant  tracks  not 
a  half  hour  old ;  but  no  buffalo.  About  eight  o'clock, 
however,  while  looking  through  my  glasses,  I  caught 
sight  of  some  tiny  chunky  black  dots  crawling  along 
below  the  mountains  diagonally  across  the  valley, 
and  somewhat  over  three  miles  away.  We  started 
in  that  direction  as  fast  as  we  could  walk.  At  the 
end  of  an  hour  we  surmounted  the  last  swell,  and 
stood  at  the  edge  of  a  steep  drop.  Immediately 
below  us  flowed  a  good-sized  stream  through  a  high 
jungle  over  the  tops  of  which  we  looked  to  a  tri- 

352 


The  big  buffalo  as  he  finally  fell. 


The  head  of  the  big  buffalo  that  nearly  got  Billy 


THE  BUFFALO 

angular  gentle  slope  overgrown  with  scattered  bushes 
and  high  grass.  Beyond  this  again  ran  another 
jungle,  angling  up  hill  from  the  first,  to  end  in  a 
forest  of  trees  about  thirty  or  forty  acres  in  extent. 
This  jungle  and  these  trees  were  backed  up  against 
the  slope  of  the  mountain.  The  buffaloes  we  had  first 
seen  above  the  grove:  they  must  now  have  sought 
cover  among  either  the  trees  or  the  lower  jungle: 
and  it  seemed  reasonable  that  the  beasts  would 
emerge  on  the  grass  and  bush  area  late  in  the  after- 
noon. Therefore  Memba  Sasa  and  I  selected  good 
comfortable  sheltered  spots,  leaned  our  backs  against 
rocks,  and  resigned  ourselves  to  long  patience.  It 
was  now  about  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  we 
could  not  expect  our  game  to  come  out  before  half 
past  three  at  earliest.  We  could  not,  however,  go 
away  to  come  back  later  because  of  the  chance  that 
the  buffaloes  might  take  it  into  their  heads  to  go  trav- 
elling. I  had  been  fooled  that  way  before.  For  this 
reason,  also,  it  was  necessary,  every  five  minutes  or 
so,  to  examine  carefully  all  our  boundaries;  lest  the 
beasts  might  be  slipping  away  through  the  cover. 
The  hours  passed  very  slowly.  We  made  lunch 
last  as  long  as  possible.  I  had  in  my  pocket  a  small 
edition  of  Hawthorne's  "The  House  of  the  Seven 
Gables,"  which  I  read,  pausing  every  few  minutes 
to  raise  my  glasses  for  the  periodical  examination  of 

353 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

the  country.  The  mental  focussing  back  from  the 
pale  gray  half  light  of  Hawthorne's  New  England 
to  the  actuality  of  wild  Africa  was  a  most  extra- 
ordinary experience. 

Through  the  heat  of  the  day  the  world  lay  ab- 
solutely silent.  At  about  half-past  three,  however, 
we  heard  rumblings  and  low  bellows  from  the  trees 
a  half  mile  away.  I  repocketed  Hawthorne,  and 
aroused  myself  to  continuous  alertness. 

The  ensuing  two  hours  passed  more  slowly  than 
all  the  rest  of  the  day,  for  we  were  constantly  on  the 
lookout.  The  buffaloes  delayed  most  singularly, 
seemingly  reluctant  to  leave  their  deep  cover.  The 
sun  dropped  behind  the  mountains:  and  their  shadow 
commenced  to  climb  the  opposite  range.  I  glanced 
at  my  watch.  We  had  not  more  than  a  half  hour  of 
daylight  left. 

Fifteen  minutes  of  this  passed.  It  began  to  look 
as  though  our  long  and  monotonous  wait  had  been 
quite  in  vain;  when,  right  below  us,  and  perhaps  five 
hundred  yards  away,  four  great  black  bodies  fed 
leisurely  from  the  bushes.  Three  of  them  we  could 
see  plainly.  Two  were  bulls  of  fair  size.  The 
fourth,  half  concealed  in  the  brush,  was  by  far  the 
biggest  of  the  lot. 

In  order  to  reach  them  we  would  have  to  slip 
down  the  face  of  the  hill  on  which  we  sat,  cross  the 

354 


THE  BUFFALO 

stream  jungle  at  the  bottom,  climb  out  the  other 
side,  and  make  our  stalk  to  within  range.  With  a 
half  hour  more  of  daylight  this  would  have  been 
comparatively  easy;  but  in  such  circumstances  it  is 
difficult  to  move  at  the  same  time  rapidly  and  unseen. 
However,  we  decided  to  make  the  attempt.  To  that 
end  we  disencumbered  ourselves  of  all  our  extras  — 
lunch  box,  book,  kodak,  glasses,  etc.  —  and  wormed 
our  way  as  rapidly  as  possible  toward  the  bottom  of 
the  hill.  We  utilized  the  cover  as  much  as  we  were 
able,  but  nevertheless  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief  when 
we  had  dropped  below  the  line  of  the  jungle.  We 
wasted  very  little  time  crossing  the  latter,  save  for 
precautions  against  noise.  Even  in  my  haste,  how- 
ever, I  had  opportunity  to  notice  its  high  and  au- 
stere character,  with  the  arching  overhead  vines,  and 
the  clear  freedom  from  undergrowth  in  its  heart. 
Across  this  cleared  space  we  ran  at  full  speed,  crouch- 
ing below  the  grasp  of  the  vines,  splashed  across  the 
brook,  and  dashed  up  the  other  bank.  Only  a  faint 
glimmer  of  light  lingered  in  the  jungle.  At  the  upper 
edge  we  paused,  collected  ourselves,  and  pushed 
cautiously  through  the  thick  border-screen  of  bush. 
The  twilight  was  just  fading  into  dusk.  Of  course 
we  had  taken  our  bearings  from  the  other  hill:  so 
now,  after  reassuring  ourselves  of  them,  we  began  to 
wriggle  our  way  at  a  great  pace  through  the  high 

355 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

grass.  Our  calculations  were  quite  accurate.  We 
stalked  successfully,  and  at  last,  drenched  in  sweat, 
found  ourselves  lying  flat  within  ten  yards  of  a  small 
bush  behind  which  we  could  make  out  dimly  the 
black  mass  of  the  largest  beast  we  had  seen  from 
across  the  way. 

Although  it  was  now  practically  dark,  we  had  the 
game  in  our  own  hands.  From  our  low  position  the 
animal,  once  it  fed  forward  from  behind  the  single 
small  bush,  would  be  plainly  outlined  against  the 
sky,  and  at  ten  yards  I  should  be  able  to  place  my 
heavy  bullets  properly,  even  in  the  dark.  There- 
fore, quite  easy  in  our  minds,  we  lay  flat  and  rested. 
At  the  end  of  twenty  seconds  the  animal  began  to 
step  forward.  I  levelled  my  double  gun,  ready  to 
press  trigger  the  moment  the  shoulder  appeared  in 
the  clear.  Then  against  the  saffron  sky  emerged 
the  ugly  outline  and  two  upstanding  horns  of  a  rhi- 
noceros ! 

"Faru!"  I  whispered  disgustedly  to  Memba  Sasa. 
With  infinite  pains  we  backed  out,  then  retreated  to 
a  safe  distance.  It  was  of  course  now  too  late  to 
hunt  up  the  three  genuine  buffaloes  of  this  ill- 
assorted  group. 

In  fact  our  main  necessity  was  to  get  through  the 
river  jungle  before  the  afterglow  had  faded  from  the 
sky,  leaving  us  in  pitch  darkness.  I  sent  Memba 

3.0 


THE  BUFFALO 

Sasa  across  to  pick  up  the  effects  we  had  left  on  the 
opposite  ridge,  while  I  myself  struck  directly  across 
the  flat  toward  camp. 

I  had  plunged  ahead  thus,  for  two  or  three  hun- 
dred yards,  when  I  was  brought  up  short  by  the 
violent  snort  of  a  rhinoceros  just  off  the  starboard 
bow.  He  was  very  close,  but  I  was  unable  to  locate 
him  in  the  dusk.  A  cautious  retreat  and  change  of 
course  cleared  me  from  him,  and  I  was  about  to  start 
on  again  full  speed  when  once  more  I  was  halted  by 
another  rhinoceros,  this  time  dead  ahead.  Attempt- 
ing to  back  away  from  him,  I  aroused  another  in  my 
rear;  and  as  though  this  were  not  enough  a  fourth 
opened  up  to  the  left. 

It  was  absolutely  impossible  to  see  anything  ten 
yards  away  unless  it  happened  to  be  silhouetted 
against  the  sky.  I  backed  cautiously  toward  a  little 
bush,  with  a  vague  idea  of  having  something  to  dodge 
around.  As  the  old  hunter  said  when,  unarmed,  he 
met  the  bear,  "Anything,  even  a  newspaper,  would 
have  come  handy."  To  my  great  joy  I  backed  against 
a  conical  ant  hill  four  or  five  feet  high.  This  I 
ascended  and  began  anti- rhino  demonstrations.  I 
had  no  time  to  fool  with  rhinos,  anyway.  I  wanted 
to  get  through  that  jungle  before  the  leopards  left 
their  family  circles.  So  I  hurled  clods  of  earth  and 
opprobrious  shouts  and  epithets  in  the  four  directions 

357 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

of  my  four  obstreperous  friends,  and  I  thought  I 
counted  four  reluctant  departures.  Then,  with 
considerable  doubt,  I  descended  from  my  ant  hill 
and  hurried  down  the  slope,  stumbling  over  grass 
hummocks,  colliding  with  bushes,  tangling  with 
vines  —  but  progressing  in  a  gratifyingly  rhinoless 
condition.  Five  minutes  cautious  but  rapid  feeling 
my  way  brought  me  through  the  jungle.  Shortly 
after  I  raised  the  campfires;  and  so  got  home. 

The  next  two  days  were  repetitions,  with  slight 
variation,  of  this  experience,  minus  the  rhinos! 
Starting  from  camp  before  daylight  we  were  only 
in  time  to  see  the  herd  —  always  aggravatingly  on 
the  other  side  of  the  cover,  no  matter  which  side  we 
selected  for  our  approach,  slowly  grazing  into  the 
dense  jungle.  And  always  they  emerged  so  late 
and  so  far  away  that  our  very  best  efforts  failed  to 
get  us  near  them  before  dark.  The  margin  was 
always  so  narrow,  however,  that  our  hopes  were  kept 
alive. 

On  the  fourth  day,  which  must  be  our  last  in 
Longeetoto,  we  found  that  the  herd  had  shifted  to 
fresh  cover  three  miles  along  the  base  of  the  moun- 
tains. We  had  no  faith  in  those  buffaloes,  but  about 
half-past  three  we  sallied  forth  dutifully  and  took 
position  on  a  hill  overlooking  the  new  hiding  place. 
This  consisted  of  a  wide  grove  of  forest  trees  varied 

358 


THE  BUFFALO 

by  occasional  open  glades  and  many  dense  thickets. 
So  eager  were  we  to  win  what  had  by  now  developed 
into  a  contest  that  I  refused  to  shoot  a  lioness  with 
a  three-quarters-grown  cub  that  appeared  within  easy 
shot  from  some  reeds  below  us. 

Time  passed  as  usual  until  nearly  sunset.  Then 
through  an  opening  into  one  of  the  small  glades  we 
caught  sight  of  the  herd  travelling  slowly  but  steadily 
from  right  to  left.  The  glimpse  was  only  momentary, 
but  it  was  sufficient  to  indicate  the  direction  from 
which  we  might  expect  them  to  emerge.  Therefore 
we  ran  at  top  speed  down  from  our  own  hill,  tore 
through  the  jungle  at  its  foot,  and  hastily,  but  with 
more  caution,  mounted  the  opposite  slope  through 
the  scattered  groves  and  high  grass.  We  could  hear 
occasionally  indications  of  the  buffaloes'  slow  ad- 
vance, and  we  wanted  to  gain  a  good  ambuscade 
above  them  before  they  emerged.  We  found  it  in 
the  shape  of  a  small  conical  hillock  perched  on  the 
side  hill  itself,  and  covered  with  long  grass.  It 
commanded  open  vistas  through  the  scattered  trees 
in  all  directions.  And  the  thicket  itself  ended  not 
fifty  yards  away.  No  buffalo  could  possibly  come 
out  without  our  seeing  him;  and  we  had  a  good  half 
hour  of  clear  daylight  before  us.  It  really  seemed 
that  luck  had  changed  at  last. 

We  settled  ourselves,  unlimbered  for  action,  and  got 

359 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

our  breath.  The  buffaloes  came  nearer  and  nearer. 
At  length,  through  a  tiny  opening  a  hundred  yards 
away,  we  could  catch  momentary  glimpses  of  their 
great  black  bodies.  I  thrust  forward  the  safety 
catch  and  waited.  Finally  a  half  dozen  of  the  huge 
beasts  were  feeding  not  six  feet  inside  the  circle  of 
brush,  and  only  thirty-odd  yards  from  where  we  lay. 

And  they  came  no  farther!  I  never  passed  a  more 
heart-breaking  half  hour  of  suspense  than  that  in 
which  little  by  little  the  daylight  and  our  hopes 
faded, while  those  confounded  buffaloes  moved  slowly 
out  to  the  very  edge  of  the  thicket,  turned,  and 
moved  as  slowly  back  again.  At  times  they  came 
actually  into  view.  We  could  see  their  sleek  black 
bodies  rolling  lazily  into  sight  and  back  again,  like 
seals  on  the  surface  of  water,  but  never  could  we 
make  out  more  than  that.  I  could  have  had  a  dozen 
good  shots,  but  I  could  not  even  guess  what  I  would 
be  shooting  at.  And  the  daylight  drained  away  and 
the  minutes  ticked  by! 

Finally,  as  I  could  see  no  end  to  this  performance 
save  that  to  which  we  had  been  so  sickeningly  ac- 
customed in  the  last  four  days,  I  motioned  to 
Memba  Sasa,  and  together  we  glided  like  shadows 
into  the  thicket. 

There  it  was  already  dusk.  We  sneaked  breath- 
lessly through  the  small  openings,  desperately  in  a 

360 


THE  BUFFALO 

hurry,  almost  painfully  on  the  alert.  In  the  dark 
shadow  sixty  yards  ahead  stood  a  half  dozen  mon- 
strous bodies  all  facing  our  way.  They  suspected 
the  presence  of  something  unusual,  but  in  the  dark- 
ness and  the  stillness  they  could  neither  identify  it 
nor  locate  it  exactly.  I  dropped  on  one  knee  and 
snatched  my  prism  glasses  to  my  eyes.  The  mag- 
nification enabled  me  to  see  partially  into  the  shad- 
ows. Every  one  of  the  group  carried  the  sharply 
inturned  points  to  the  horns:  they  were  all  cows! 

An  instant  after  I  had  made  out  this  fact,  they 
stampeded  across  our  face.  The  whole  band  thun- 
dered and  crashed  away. 

Desperately  we  sprang  after  them,  our  guns  atrail, 
our  bodies  stooped  low  to  keep  down  in  the  shadow 
of  the  earth.  And  suddenly,  without  the  slightest 
warning  we  plumped  around  a  bush  square  on  top  of 
the  entire  herd.  It  had  stopped  and  was  staring 
back  in  our  direction.  I  could  see  nothing  but  the 
wild  toss  of  a  hundred  pair  of  horns  silhouetted 
against  such  of  the  irregular  saffron  afterglow  as  had 
not  been  blocked  off  by  the  twigs  and  branches  of 
the  thicket.  All  below  was  indistinguishable  black- 
ness. 

They  stood  in  a  long  compact  semicircular  line 
thirty  yards  away,  quite  still,  evidently  staring 
intently  into  the  dusk  to  find  out  what  had  alarmed 

361 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

them.  At  any  moment  they  were  likely  to  make 
another  rush;  and  if  they  did  so  in  the  direction 
they  were  facing,  they  would  most  certainly  run 
over  us  and  trample  us  down. 

Remembering  the  dusk  I  thought  it  likely  that 
the  unexpected  vivid  flash  of  the  gun  might  turn 
them  off  before  they  got  started.  Therefore  I  raised 
the  big  double  Holland,  aimed  below  the  line  of 
heads,  and  was  just  about  to  pull  trigger  when  my 
eye  caught  the  silhouette  of  a  pair  of  horns  whose 
tips  spread  out  instead  of  turning  in.  This  was  a 
bull,  and  I  immediately  shifted  the  gun  in  his  direc- 
tion. At  the  heavy  double  report,  the  herd  broke 
wildly  to  right  and  left  and  thundered  away.  I  con- 
fess I  was  quite  relieved. 

A  low  moaning  bellow  told  us  that  our  bull  was 
down.  The  last  few  days'  experience  at  being  out 
late  had  taught  us  wisdom  so  Memba  Sasa  had 
brought  a  lantern.  By  the  light  of  this,  we  dis- 
covered our  bull  down,  and  all  but  dead.  To  make 
sure,  I  put  a  Winchester  bullet  into  his  backbone. 

We  felt  ourselves  legitimately  open  to  congratu- 
lations, for  we  had  killed  this  bull  from  a  practically 
nocturnal  herd,  in  the  face  of  considerable  danger 
and  more  than  considerable  difficulty.  Therefore 
we  shook  hands  and  made  appropriate  remarks  to 
each  other,  lacking  anybody  to  make  them  for  us. 

362 


THE  BUFFALO 

By  now  it  was  pitch  dark  in  the  thicket,  and  just 
about  so  outside.  We  had  to  do  a  little  planning. 
I  took  the  Holland  gun,  gave  Memba  Sasa  the  Win- 
chester, and  started  him  for  camp  after  help.  As 
he  carried  off  the  lantern,  it  was  now  up  to  me  to 
make  a  fire  and  to  make  it  quickly. 

For  the  past  hour  a  fine  drizzle  had  been  falling; 
and  the  whole  country  was  wet  from  previous  rains. 
I  hastily  dragged  in  all  the  dead  wood  I  could  find 
near,  collected  what  ought  to  be  good  kindling,  and 
started  in  to  light  a  fire.  Now,  although  I  am  no 
Boy  Scout,  I  have  lit  several  fires  in  my  time.  But 
never  when  I  was  at  the  same  time  in  such  a  des- 
perate need  and  hurry;  and  in  possession  of  such  poor 
materials.  The  harder  I  worked,  the  worse  things 
sputtered  and  smouldered.  Probably  the  relief  from 
the  long  tension  of  the  buffalo  hunt  had  something 
to  do  with  my  general  piffling  inefficiency.  If  I  had 
taken  time  to  do  a  proper  job  once  instead  of  a  half- 
way job  a  dozen  times,  as  I  should  have  done  and 
usually  would  have  done,  I  would  have  had  a  fire 
in  no  time.  I  imagine  I  was  somewhat  scared.  The 
lioness  and  her  hulking  cub  had  smelled  the  buffalo 
and  were  prowling  around.  I  could  hear  them 
purring  and  uttering  their  hollow  grunts.  However, 
at  last  the  flame  held.  I  fed  it  sparingly,  lit  a  pipe, 
placed  the  Holland  gun  next  my  hand,  and  resigned 

363 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

myself  to  waiting.  For  two  hours  this  was  not  so 
bad.  I  smoked,  and  rested  up,  and  dried  out  before 
my  little  fire.  Then  my  fuel  began  to  run  low.  I 
arose  and  tore  down  all  the  remaining  dead  limbs 
within  the  circle  of  my  firelight.  These  were  not 
many,  so  I  stepped  out  into  the  darkness  for  more. 
Immediately  I  was  warned  back  by  a  deep  growl! 

The  next  hour  was  not  one  of  such  solid  comfort. 
I  began  to  get  parsimonious  about  my  supply  of 
firewood,  trying  to  use  it  in  such  a  manner  as  to  keep 
up  an  adequate  blaze,  and  at  the  same  time  to  make 
it  last  until  Memba  Sasa  should  return  with  the 
men.  I  did  it,  though  I  got  down  to  charred  ends 
before  I  was  through.  The  old  lioness  hung  around 
within  a  hundred  yards  or  so  below,  and  the  buffalo 
herd,  returning,  filed  by  above,  pausing  to  stamp  and 
snort  at  the  fire.  Finally,  about  nine  o'clock,  I  made 
out  two  lanterns  bobbing  up  to  me  through  the  trees. 

The  last  incident  to  be  selected  from  many  ex- 
periences with  buffaloes  took  place  in  quite  an  un- 
visited  district  over  the  mountains  from  the  Loieta 
Plains.  For  nearly  two  months  we  had  ranged  far 
in  this  lovely  upland  country  of  groves  and  valleys 
and  wide  grass  bottoms  between  hills,  hunting  for 
greater  kudu.  One  day  we  all  set  out  from  camp 
to  sweep  the  base  of  a  range  of  low  mountains 
in  search  of  a  good  specimen  of  Newman's  harte- 

364 


THE  BUFFALO 

beeste,  or  anything  else  especially  desirable  that 
might  happen  along.  The  gentle  slope  from  the 
mountains  was  of  grass  cut  by  numerous  small 
ravines  grown  with  low  brush.  This  brush  was  so 
scanty  as  to  afford  but  indifferent  cover  for  any- 
thing larger  than  one  of  the  small  grass  antelopes. 
All  the  ravines  led  down  a  mile  or  so  to  a  deeper  main 
watercourse  paralleling  the  mountains.  Some  water 
stood  in  the  pools  here;  and  the  cover  was  a  little 
more  dense,  but  consisted  at  best  of  but  a  "stringer" 
no  wider  than  a  city  street.  Flanking  the  stringer 
were  scattered  high  bushes  for  a  few  yards;  and  then 
the  open  country.  Altogether  as  unlikely  a  place 
for  the  shade-loving  buffalo  as  could  be  imagined. 

We  collected  our  Newmanii  after  rather  a  long 
hunt;  and  just  at  noon,  when  the  heat  of  the  day 
began  to  come  on,  we  wandered  down  to  the  water 
for  lunch.  Here  we  found  a  good  clear  pool  and 
drank.  The  boys  began  to  make  themselves  com- 
fortable by  the  water's  edge;  C.  went  to  superintend 
the  disposal  of  Billy's  mule.  Billy  had  sat  down  be- 
neath the  shade  of  the  most  hospitable  of  the 
bushes  a  hundred  feet  or  so  away,  and  was  taking  off 
her  veil  and  gloves.  I  was  carrying  to  her  the  lunch 
box.  When  I  was  about  halfway  from  where  the 
boys  were  drinking  at  the  stream's  edge  to  where 
she  sat,  a  buffalo  bull  thrust  his  head  from  the  bushes 

365 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

just  the  other  side  of  her.  His  head  was  thrust  up 
and  forward,  as  he  reached  after  some  of  the  higher 
tender  leaves  on  the  bushes.  So  close  was  he  that  I 
could  see  plainly  the  drops  glistening  on  his  moist 
black  nose.  As  for  Billy,  peacefully  unwinding  her 
long  veil,  she  seemed  fairly  under  the  beast. 

I  had  no  weapon,  and  any  moment  might  bring 
some  word  or  some  noise  that  would  catch  the  ani- 
mal's attention.  Fortunately,  for  the  moment, 
every  one,  relaxed  in  the  first  reaction  after  the  long 
morning,  was  keeping  silence.  If  the  buffalo  should 
look  down,  he  could  not  fail  to  see  Billy;  and  if  he 
saw  her,  he  would  indubitably  kill  her. 

As  has  been  explained,  snapping  the  fingers  does 
not  seem  to  reach  the  attention  of  wild  animals. 
Therefore  I  snapped  mine  as  vigorously  as  I  knew 
how.  Billy  heard,  looked  toward  me,  turned  in  the 
direction  of  my  gaze,  and  slowly  sank  prone  against 
the  ground.  Some  of  the  boys  heard  me  also,  and 
I  could  see  the  heads  of  all  of  them  popping  up  in 
interest  from  the  banks  of  the  stream.  My  cautious 
but  very  frantic  signals  to  lie  low  were  understood: 
the  heads  dropped  back.  Mavrouki,  a  rifle  in  each 
hand,  came  worming  his  way  toward  me  through 
the  grass  with  incredible  quickness  and  agility.  A 
moment  later  he  thrust  the  405  Winchester  into  my 
hand. 

366 


THE  BUFFALO 

This  weapon,  powerful  and  accurate  as  it  is,  the 
best  of  the  lot  for  lions,  was  altogether  too  small 
for  the  tremendous  brute  before  me.  However,  the 
Holland  was  in  camp;  and  I  was  very  glad  in  the 
circumstances  to  get  this.  The  buffalo  had  browsed 
slowly  forward  into  the  clear,  and  was  now  taking 
the  top  off  a  small  bush,  and  facing  half  away  from 
us.  It  seemed  to  me  quite  the  largest  buffalo  I  had 
ever  seen,  though  I  should  have  been  willing  to  have 
acknowledged  at  that  moment  that  the  circumstances 
had  something  to  do  with  the  estimate.  However, 
later  we  found  that  the  impression  was  correct.  He 
was  verily  a  giant  of  his  kind.  His  height  at  the 
shoulder  was  five  feet  ten  inches;  and  his  build  was 
even  chunkier  than  the  usual  solid  robust  pattern 
of  buffaloes.  For  example,  his  neck,  just  back  of  the 
horns,  was  two  feet  eight  inches  thick!  He  weighed 
not  far  from  three  thousand  pounds. 

Once  the  rifle  was  in  my  hands  I  lost  the  feeling 
of  utter  helplessness,  and  began  to  plan  the  best 
way  out  of  the  situation.  As  yet  the  beast  was 
totally  unconscious  of  our  presence;  but  that  could 
not  continue  long.  There  were  too  many  men  about. 
A  chance  current  of  air  from  any  one  of  a  half  dozen 
directions  could  not  fail  to  give  him  the  scent.  Then 
there  would  be  lively  doings.  It  was  exceedingly 
desirable  to  deliver  the  first  careful  blow  of  the  en- 

367 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

gagement  while  he  was  unaware.  On  the  other  hand, 
his  present  attitude  —  half  away  from  me  —  was 
not  favourable;  nor,  in  my  exposed  position  dared 
I  move  to  a  better  place.  There  seemed  nothing 
better  than  to  wait;  so  wait  we  did.  Mavrouki 
crouched  close  at  my  elbow,  showing  not  the  faintest 
indication  of  a  desire  to  be  anywhere  but  there. 

The  buffalo  browsed  for  a  minute  or  so;  then  swung 
slowly  broadside  on.  So  massive  and  low  were  the 
bosses  of  his  horns  that  the  brain  shot  was  impossible. 
Therefore  I  aimed  low  in  the  shoulder.  The  shock 
of  the  bullet  actually  knocked  that  great  beast  off 
his  feet!  My  respect  for  the  hitting  power  of  the 
405  went  up  several  notches.  The  only  trouble  was 
that  he  rebounded  like  a  rubber  ball.  Without  an 
instant's  hesitation  I  gave  him  another  in  the  same 
place.  This  brought  him  to  his  knees  for  an  instant; 
but  he  was  immediately  afoot  again.  Billy  had, 
with  great  good  sense  and  courage,  continued  to  lie 
absolutely  flat  within  a  few  yards  of  the  beast, 
Mavrouki  and  I  had  kept  low,  and  C.  and  the  men 
were  out  of  sight.  The  buffalo  therefore  had  seen 
none  of  his  antagonists.  He  charged  at  a  guess; 
and  guessed  wrong.  As  he  went  by  I  fired  at  his 
head,  and,  as  we  found  out  afterward,  broke  his 
jaw.  A  moment  later  C.'s  great  elephant  gun  roared 
from  somewhere  behind  me  as  he  fired  by  a  glimpse 

368 


THE  BUFFALO 

through  the  brush  at  the  charging  animal.  It  was 
an  excellent  snapshot,  and  landed  back  of  the  ribs. 

When  the  buffalo  broke  through  the  screen  of 
brush  I  dashed  after  him,  for  I  thought  our  only 
chance  of  avoiding  danger  lay  in  keeping  close  track 
of  where  that  buffalo  went.  On  the  other  side  the 
bushes  I  found  a  little  grassy  opening,  and  then  a 
small  but  dense  thicket  into  which  the  animal  had 
plunged.  To  my  left,  C.  was  running  up,  followed 
closely  by  Billy,  who,  with  her  usual  good  sense, 
had  figured  out  the  safest  place  to  be  immediately 
back  of  the  guns.  We  came  together  at  the  thicket's 
edge. 

The  animal's  movements  could  be  plainly  fol- 
lowed by  the  sound  of  his  crashing.  We  heard  him 
dash  away  some  distance,  pause,  circle  a  bit  to  the 
right,  and  then  come  rushing  back  in  our  direction. 
Stooping  low  we  peered  into  the  darkness  of  the 
thicket.  Suddenly  we  saw  him,  not  a  dozen  yards 
away.  He  was  still  afoot,  but  very  slow.  I  dropped 
the  magazine  of  five  shots  into  him  as  fast  as  I  could 
work  the  lever.  We  later  found  all  the  bullet-holes 
in  a  spot  as  big  as  the  palm  of  your  hand.  These 
successive  heavy  blows  delivered  all  in  the  same  place 
were  too  much  for  even  his  tremendous  vitality;  and 
slowly  he  sank  on  his  side. 


369 


XXVI 
JUJA 

MOST  people  have  heard  of  Juja,  the  modern 
dwelling  in  the  heart  of  an  African  wilderness, 
belonging  to  our  own  countryman,  Mr.  W.  N. 
McMillan.  If  most  people  are  as  I  was  before  I 
saw  the  place,  they  have  considerable  curiosity  and 
no  knowledge  of  what  it  is  and  how  it  looks. 

We  came  to  Juja  at  the  end  of  a  wide  circle  that 
had  lasted  three  months,  and  was  now  bringing  us 
back  again  toward  our  starting  point.  For  five 
days  we  had  been  camped  on  top  a  high  bluff  at  the 
junction  of  two  rivers.  When  we  moved  we  dropped 
down  the  bluff,  crossed  one  river,  and,  after  some 
searching,  found  our  way  up  the  other  bluff.  There 
we  were  on  a  vast  plain  bounded  by  mountains 
thirty  miles  away.  A  large  white  and  unexpected 
sign  told  us  we  were  on  Juja  Farm,  and  warned  us 
that  we  should  be  careful  of  our  fires  in  the  long 
grass. 

For  an  hour  we  plodded  slowly  along.  Herds  of 
zebra  and  hartebeeste  drew  aside  before  us,  dark 

370 


JUJA 

heavy  wildebeeste  —  the  gnu  —  stood  in  groups  at  a 
safe  distance  their  heads  low,  looking  exactly  like 
our  vanished  bison;  ghostlike  bands  of  Thompson's 
gazelles  glided  away  with  their  smooth  regular  mo- 
tion. On  the  vast  and  treeless  plains  single  small 
objects  standing  above  the  general  uniformity  took 
an  exaggereated  value;  so  that,  before  it  emerged 
from  the  swirling  heat  mirage,  a  solitary  tree  might 
easily  be  mistaken  for  a  group  of  buildings  or  a 
grove.  Finally,  however,  we  raised  above  the  hori- 
zon a  dark  straight  clump  of  trees.  It  danced  in  the 
mirage,  and  blurred  and  changed  form,  but  it  per- 
sisted. A  strange  patch  of  white  kept  appearing 
and  disappearing  again.  This  resolved  itself  into 
the  side  of  a  building.  A  spider-legged  water  tower 
appeared  above  the  trees. 

Gradually  we  drew  up  on  these.  A  bit  later  we 
swung  to  the  right  around  a  close  wire  fence  ten  feet 
high,  passed  through  a  gate,  and  rode  down  a  long 
slanting  avenue  of  young  trees.  Between  the  trees 
were  century  plants  and  flowers,  and  a  clipped  bor- 
der ran  before  them.  The  avenue  ended  before  a 
low  white  bungalow,  with  shady  verandas  all  about 
it,  and  vines.  A  formal  flower  garden  lay  immedi- 
ately about  it,  and  a  very  tall  flag  pole  had  been 
planted  in  front.  A  hundred  feet  away  the  garden 
dropped  off  steep  to  one  of  the  deep  river  canons, 

371 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

Two  white-robed  Somalis  appeared  on  the  ve- 
randa to  inform  us  that  McMillan  was  off  on  safari. 
Our  own  boys  approaching  at  this  moment,  we  there- 
upon led  them  past  the  house,  down  another  long 
avenue  of  trees  and  flowers,  out  into  an  open  space 
with  many  buildings  at  its  edges,  past  extensive 
stables,  and  through  another  gate  to  the  open  plains 
once  more.  Here  we  made  camp.  After  lunch  we 
went  back  to  explore. 

Juja  is  situated  on  the  top  of  a  high  bluff  over- 
looking a  river.  In  all  directions  are  tremendous 
grass  plains.  Donya  Sabuk  —  the  Mountain  of 
Buffaloes  —  is  the  only  landmark  nearer  than  the 
dim  mountains  beyond  the  edge  of  the  world,  and 
that  is  a  day's  journey  away.  A  rectangle  of  pos- 
sibly forty  acres  has  been  enclosed  on  three  sides  by 
animal-proof  wire  fence.  The  fourth  side  is  the 
edge  of  the  bluff.  Within  this  enclosure  have  been 
planted  many  trees,  now  of  good  size;  a  pretty  gar- 
den with  abundance  of  flowers,  ornamental  shrubs, 
a  sundial,  and  lawns.  In  the  river  bottom  land 
below  the  bluff  is  a  very  extensive  vegetable  and 
fruit  garden,  with  cornfields,  and  experimental 
plantings  of  rubber,  and  the  like.  For  the  use  of 
the  people  of  Juja  here  are  raised  a  great  variety  and 
abundance  of  vegetables,  fruits,  and  grains. 

Juja  House,  as  has  been  said,  stands  back  a  hun- 

372 


O 


m 

tc 


•o 

rt 


JUJA 

dred  feet  from  a  bend  in  the  bluffs  that  permits  a 
view  straight  up  the  river  valley.  It  is  surrounded 
by  gardens  and  trees,  and  occupies  all  one  end  of 
the  enclosed  rectangle.  Farther  down,  and  perched 
on  the  edge  of  a  bluff,  are  several  pretty  little  bunga- 
lows for  the  accommodation  of  the  superintendent 
and  his  family,  for  the  bachelors'  mess,  for  the  farm 
offices  and  dispensary,  and  for  the  dairy  room,  the 
ice-plant  and  the  post-office  and  telegraph  station. 
Back  of  and  inland  from  this  row  on  the  edge  of  the 
cliff,  and  scattered  widely  in  open  space,  are  a  large 
store  stocked  with  everything  on  earth,  the  Somali 
quarters  of  low  whitewashed  buildings,  the  cattle 
corrals,  the  stables,  wild  animal  cages,  granaries, 
blacksmith  and  carpenter  shops,  wagon  sheds  and 
the  like.  Outside  the  enclosure,  and  a  half  mile 
away,  are  the  conical  grass  huts  that  make  up  the 
native  village.  Below  the  cliff  is  a  concrete  dam, 
an  electric  light  plant,  a  pumping  plant  and  a  few 
details  of  the  sort. 

Such  is  a  relief  map  of  Juja  proper.  Four  miles 
away,  and  on  another  river,  is  Long  Juju,  a  strictly 
utilitarian  affair  where  grow  ostriches,  cattle,  sheep, 
and  various  irrigated  things  in  the  bottom  land. 
All  the  rest  of  the  farm,  or  estate,  or  whatever  one 
would  call  it,  is  open  plain,  with  here  and  there  a 
river  bottom,  or  a  trifle  of  brush  cover.  But  never 

373 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

enough  to  constitute  more  than  an  isolated  and 
lonesome  patch. 

Before  leaving  London  we  had  received  from  Mc- 
Millan earnest  assurances  that  he  kept  open  house, 
and  that  we  must  take  advantage  of  his  hospitality 
should  we  happen  his  way.  Therefore  when  one  of 
his  white-robed  Somalis  approached  us  to  inquire 
respectfully  as  to  what  we  wanted  for  dinner,  we 
yielded  weakly  to  the  temptation  and  told  him. 
Then  we  marched  us  boldly  to  the  house  and  took 
possession. 

All  around  the  house  ran  a  veranda,  shaded  by 
bamboo  curtains  and  vines,  furnished  with  the  luxu- 
rious teakwood  chairs  of  the  tropics  of  which  you  can 
so  extend  the  arms  as  to  form  two  comfortable  and 
elevated  rests  for  your  feet.  Horns  of  various  ani- 
mals ornamented  the  walls.  A  megaphone  and 
a  huge  terrestrial  telescope  on  a  tripod  stood  in  one 
corner.  Through  the  latter  one  could  examine  at 
favourable  times  the  herds  of  game  on  the  plains. 

And  inside  —  mind  you,  we  were  fresh  from  three 
months  in  the  wilderness  —  we  found  rugs,  pictures, 
wall  paper,  a  pianola,  many  books,  baths,  beautiful 
white  bedrooms  with  snowy  mosquito  curtains, 
electric  lights,  running  water,  and  above  all  an  at- 
mosphere of  homelike  comfort.  We  fell  into  easy 
chairs,  and  seized  books  and  magazines.  The  So- 

374 


JUJA 

mails  brought  us  trays  with  iced  and  fizzy  drinks 
in  thin  glasses.  When  the  time  came  we  crossed  the 
veranda  in  the  rear  to  enter  a  spacious  separate 
dining-room.  The  table  was  white  with  napery, 
glittering  with  silver  and  glass,  bright  with  flowers. 
We  ate  leisurely  of  a  well-served  course  dinner,  end- 
ing with  black  coffee,  shelled  nuts,  and  candied 
fruit.  Replete  and  satisfied  we  strolled  back  across 
the  veranda  to  the  main  house.  F.  raised  his  hand. 

"Hark!"  he  admonished  us. 

We  held  still.  From  the  velvet  darkness  came 
the  hurried  petulant  barking  of  zebra;  three  hyenas 
howled. 


375 


XXVII 
A  VISIT  AT  JUJA 

NEXT  day  we  left  all  this;  and  continued  our 
march.  About  a  month  later,  however,  we 
encountered  McMillan  himself  in  Nairobi.  I  was 
just  out  from  a  very  hard  trip  to  the  coast  —  Billy 
not  with  me  —  and  wanted  nothing  so  much  as  a 
few  days'  rest.  McMillan's  cordiality  was  not  to  be 
denied,  however,  so  the  very  next  day  found  us 
tucking  ourselves  into  a  buckboard  behind  four  white 
Abyssinian  mules.  McMillan,  some  Somalis  and 
Captain  Duirs  came  along  in  another  similar  rig. 
Our  driver  was  a  Hottentot  half-caste  from  South 
Africa.  He  had  a  flat  face,  a  yellow  skin,  a  quiet 
manner,  and  a  competent  hand.  His  name  was 
Michael.  At  his  feet  crouched  a  small  Kikuyu 
savage,  in  blanket,  ear  ornaments  and  all  the  fix- 
ings, armed  with  a  long  lashed  whip  and  raucous 
voice.  At  any  given  moment  he  was  likely  to  hop 
out  over  the  moving  wheel,  run  forward,  bat  the  off 
leading  mule,  and  hop  back  again,  all  with  the  most 
extraordinary  agility.  He  likewise  hurled  what 

376 


A  VISIT  AT  JUJA 

sounded  like  very  opprobrious  epithets  at  such 
natives  as  did  not  get  out  the  way  quickly  enough  to 
suit  him.  The  expression  of  his  face,  which  was  that 
of  a  person  steeped  in  woe,  never  changed. 

We  rattled  out  of  Nairobi  at  a  great  pace,  and 
swung  into  the  Fort  Hall  Road.  This  famous 
thoroughfare,  one  of  the  three  or  four  made  roads  in 
all  East  Africa,  is  about  sixty  miles  long.  It  is  a 
strategic  necessity  but  is  used  by  thousands  of  na- 
tives on  their  way  to  see  the  sights  of  the  great 
metropolis.  As  during  the  season  there  is  no  water 
for  much  of  the  distance,  a  great  many  pay  for  their 
curiosity  with  their  lives.  The  road  skirts  the  base 
of  the  hills,  winding  in  and  out  of  shallow  canons 
and  about  the  edges  of  rounded  hills.  To  the  right 
one  can  see  far  out  across  the  Athi  Plains. 

We  met  an  almost  unbroken  succession  of  people. 
There  were  long  pack  trains  of  women,  quite  cheer- 
ful, bent  over  under  the  weight  of  firewood  or  vege- 
tables, many  with  babies  tucked  away  in  the  folds 
of  their  garments;  mincing  dandified  warriors  with 
poodle-dog  hair,  skewers  in  their  ears,  their  jewel- 
lery brought  to  a  high  polish,  a  fatuous  expression 
of  self-satisfaction  on  their  faces,  carrying  each  a 
section  of  sugarcane  which  they  now  used  as  a  staff 
but  would  later  devour  for  lunch;  bearers,  under 
convoy  of  straight  soldierly  red-sashed  Sudanese, 

377 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

transporting  Government  goods;  wild-eyed  staring 
shenzis  from  the  forest,  with  matted  hair  and  goat- 
skin garments,  looking  ready  to  bolt  aside  at  the 
slightest  alarm;  coveys  of  marvellous  and  giggling 
damsels,  their  fine-grained  skin  anointed  and  shin- 
ing with  red  oil,  strung  with  beads  and  shells,  very 
coquettish  and  sure  of  their  feminine  charm;  naked 
small  boys  marching  solemnly  like  their  elders; 
camel  trains  from  far-off  Abyssinia  or  Somaliland 
under  convoy  of  white-clad  turbaned  grave  men  of 
beautiful  features;  donkey  safaris  in  charge  of  dirty 
degenerate  looking  East  Indians  carrying  trade  goods 
to  some  distant  post  —  all  these  and  many  more,  go- 
ing one  way  or  the  other,  drew  one  side,  at  the  sight 
of  our  white  faces,  to  let  us  pass. 

About  two  o'clock  we  suddenly  turned  off  from 
the  road,  apparently  quite  at  random,  down  the 
long  grassy  interminable  incline  that  dipped  slowly 
down  and  slowly  up  again  over  great  distance  to 
form  the  Athi  Plains.  Along  the  road,  with  its 
endless  swarm  of  humanity,  we  had  seen  no  game, 
but  after  a  half  mile  it  began  to  appear.  We  en- 
countered herds  of  zebra,  kongoni,  wildebeeste,  and 
"Tommies"  standing  about  or  grazing,  sometimes 
almost  within  range  from  the  moving  buckboard. 
After  a  time  we  made  out  the  trees  and  water  tower 
of  Juja  ahead;  and  by  four  o'clock  had  turned  into 

378 


A  VISIT  AT  JUJA 

the  avenue  of  trees.  Our  approach  had  been  seen. 
Tea  was  ready,  and  a  great  and  hospitable  table  of 
bottles,  ice,  and  siphons. 

The  next  morning  we  inspected  the  stables,  built 
of  stone  in  a  hollow  square,  like  a  fort,  with  box  stalls 
opening  directly  into  the  courtyard  and  screened 
carefully  against  the  deadly  flies.  The  horses, 
beautiful  creatures,  were  led  forth  each  by  his  proud 
and  anxious  syce.  We  tried  them  all,  and  selected 
our  mounts  for  the  time  of  our  stay.  The  syces 
were  small  black  men,  lean  and  well  formed,  accus- 
tomed to  running  afoot  wherever  their  charges  went, 
at  walk,  lope  or  gallop.  Thus  in  a  day  they  covered 
incredible  distances  over  all  sorts  of  country;  but 
were  always  at  hand  to  seize  the  bridle  reins  when 
the  master  wished  to  dismount.  Like  the  rickshaw 
runners  in  Nairobi,  they  wore  their  hair  clipped  close 
around  their  bullet  heads  and  seemed  to  have  de- 
veloped into  a  small  compact  hard  type  of  their  own. 
They  ate  and  slept  with  their  horses. 

Just  outside  the  courtyard  of  the  stables  a  little 
barred  window  had  been  cut  through.  Near  this 
were  congregated  a  number  of  Kikuyu  savages 
wrapped  in  their  blankets,  receiving  each  in  turn  a 
portion  of  cracked  corn  from  a  dusty  white  man 
behind  the  bars.  They  were  a  solemn,  unsmiling, 
strange  type  of  savage,  and  they  performed  all  the 

379 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

manual  work  within  the  enclosure,  squatting  on 
their  heels  and  pulling  methodically  but  slowly  at 
the  weeds,  digging  with  their  pangas,  carrying  loads 
to  and  fro,  or  solemnly  pushing  a  lawn  mower,  their 
blankets  wrapped  shamelessly  about  their  necks. 
They  were  harried  about  by  a  red-faced  beefy  Eng- 
lish gardener  with  a  marvellous  vocabulary  of  several 
native  languages  and  a  short  hippo-hide  whip.  He 
talked  himself  absolutely  purple  in  the  face  without, 
as  far  as  my  observation  went,  penetrating  an  inch 
below  the  surface.  The  Kikuyus  went  right  on  do- 
ing what  they  were  already  doing  in  exactly  the  same 
manner.  Probably  the  purple  Englishman  was  sat- 
isfied with  that,  but  I  am  sure  apoplexy  of  either  the 
heat  or  thundering  variety  has  him  by  now. 

Before  the  store  building  squatted  another  group 
of  savages.  Perhaps  in  time  one  of  the  lot  expected 
to  buy  something;  or  possibly  they  just  sat.  No- 
body but  a  storekeeper  would  ever  have  time  to  find 
out.  Such  is  the  native  way.  The  storekeeper  in 
this  case  was  named  John.  Besides  being  store- 
keeper, he  had  charge  of  the  issuing  of  all  the  house 
supplies,  and  those  for  the  white  men's  mess;  he 
must  do  all  the  worrying  about  the  upper  class  na- 
tives; he  must  occasionally  kill  a  buck  for  the  meat 
supply;  and  he  must  be  prepared  to  take  out  any 
stray  tenderfeet  that  happen  along  during  McMil- 

380 


A  VISIT  AT  JUJA 

lan's  absence,  and  persuade  them  that  they  are 
mighty  hunters.  His  domain  was  a  fascinating  place, 
for  it  contained  everything  from  pianola  parts  to 
patent  washstands.  The  next  best  equipped  place 
of  the  kind  I  know  of  is  the  property  room  of  a 
moving  picture  company. 

We  went  to  mail  a  letter,  and  found  the  postmaster 
to  be  a  gentle-voiced,  polite  little  Hindu,  who  greeted 
us  smilingly,  and  attempted  to  conceal  a  work  of 
art.  We  insisted;  whereupon  he  deprecatingly  drew 
forth  a  copy  of  a  newspaper  cartoon  having  to  do 
with  Colonel  Roosevelt's  visit.  It  was  copied  with 
mathematical  exactness,  and  highly  coloured  in  a 
manner  to  throw  into  profound  melancholy  the 
chauffeur  of  a  coloured  supplement  press.  We  ad- 
mired and  praised;  whereupon,  still  shyly,  he  pro- 
duced more,  and  yet  again  more  copies  of  the  same 
cartoon.  When  we  left,  he  was  reseating  himself  to 
the  painstaking  valueless  labour  with  which  he  filled 
his  days.  Three  times  a  week  such  mail  as  Juja  gets 
comes  in  via  native  runner.  We  saw  the  latter,  a 
splendid  figure,  almost  naked,  loping  easily,  his 
little  bundle  held  before  him. 

Down  past  the  office  and  dispensary  we  strolled, 
by  the  comfortable,  airy,  white  man's  clubhouse. 
The  headman  of  the  native  population  passed  us 
with  a  dignified  salute;  a  fine  upstanding  deep- 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

chested  man,  with  a  lofty  air  of  fierce  pride.  He 
and  his  handful  of  soldiers  alone  of  the  natives,  ex- 
cept the  Somalis  and  syces,  dwelt  within  the  com- 
pound in  a  group  of  huts  near  the  gate.  There 
when  off  duty  they  might  be  seen  polishing  their 
arms,  or  chatting  with  their  women.  The  latter 
were  ladies  of  leisure,  with  wonderful  chignons, 
much  jewellery,  and  patterned  Mericani  wrapped 
gracefully  about  their  pretty  figures. 

By  the  time  we  had  seen  all  these  things  it  was 
noon.  We  ate  lunch.  The  various  members  of  the 
party  decided  to  do  various  things.  I  elected  to  go 
out  with  McMillan  while  he  killed  a  wildebeeste; 
and  I  am  very  glad  I  did.  It  was  a  most  astonish- 
ing performance. 

You  must  imagine  us  driving  out  the  gate  in  a 
buckboard  behind  four  small  but  lively  white  Abys- 
sinian mules.  In  the  front  seat  were  Michael,  the 
Hottentot  driver,  and  McMillan's  Somali  gun- 
bearer.  In  the  rear  seat  were  McMillan  and  my- 
self, while  a  small  black  syce  perched  precariously 
behind.  Our  rifles  rested  in  a  sling  before  us.  So 
we  jogged  out  on  the  road  to  Long  Juju,  examining 
with  a  critical  eye  the  herds  of  game  to  right  and 
left  of  us.  The  latter  examined  us,  apparently, 
with  an  eye  as  critical.  Finally,  in  a  herd  of  zebra, 
we  espied  a  lone  wildebeeste. 

382 


A  VISIT  AT  JUJA 

The  wildebeeste  is  the  Jekyll  and  Hyde  of  the  ani- 
mal kingdom.  His  usual  and  familiar  habit  is  that 
of  a  heavy,  sluggish  animal,  like  our  vanished  bison. 
He  stands  solid  and  inert,  his  head  down;  he  plods 
slowly  forward  in  single  file,  his  horns  swinging, 
each  foot  planted  deliberately.  In  short,  he  is  the 
personification  of  dignity,  solid  respectability,  gravity 
of  demeanour.  But  then  all  of  a  sudden,  at  any 
small  interruption,  he  becomes  the  giddiest  of 
created  beings.  Up  goes  his  head  and  tail,  he  buck 
jumps,  cavorts,  gambols,  kicks  up  his  heels,  bounds 
stiff-legged,  and  generally  performs  like  an  irre- 
sponsible infant.  To  see  a  whole  herd  at  once  of 
these  grave  and  reverend  seigneurs  suddenly  blow 
up  into  such  light-headed  capers  goes  far  to  destroy 
one's  faith  in  the  stability  of  institutions. 

Also  the  wildebeeste  is  not  misnamed.  He  is  a 
conservative,  and  he  sees  no  particular  reason  for 
allowing  his  curiosity  to  interfere  with  his  precon- 
ceived beliefs.  The  latter  are  distrustful.  There- 
fore he  and  his  females  and  his  young  —  I  should  say 
small  —  depart  when  one  is  yet  far  away.  I  say 
small,  because  I  do  not  believe  that  any  wildebeeste  is 
ever  young.  They  do  not  resemble  calves,  but  are  ex- 
act replicas  of  the  big  ones,  just  as  Niobe's  daughters 
are  in  nothing  childlike,  but  merely  smaller  women. 

When  we  caught  sight  of  this  lone  wildebeeste 

383 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

among  the  zebra,  I  naturally  expected  that  we  would 
pull  up  the  buckboard,  descend,  and  approach  to 
within  some  sort  of  long  range.  Then  we  would 
open  fire.  Barring  luck,  the  wildebeeste  would 
thereupon  depart  "wilder  and  beestier  than  ever," 
as  John  McCutcheon  has  it.  Not  at  all!  Michael, 
the  Hottentot,  turned  the  buckboard  off  the  road, 
headed  toward  the  distant  quarry,  and  charged  at 
full  speed!  Over  stones  we  went  that  sent  us  feet 
into  the  air,  down  and  out  of  shallow  gullies  that 
seemed  as  though  they  would  jerk  the  pole  from  the 
vehicle  with  a  grand  rattlety-bang,  everyone  hang- 
ing on  for  his  life.  I  was  entirely  occupied  with  the 
state  of  my  spinal  column  and  the  retention  of  my 
teeth,  but  McMillan  must  have  been  keeping  his 
eye  on  the  game.  One  peculiarity  of  the  wildebeeste 
is  that  he  cannot  see  behind  him,  and  another  is 
that  he  is  curious.  It  would  not  require  a  very  large 
bump  of  curiosity,  however,  to  cause  any  animal  to 
wonder  what  all  the  row  was  about.  There  could 
be  no  doubt  that  this  animal  would  sooner  or  later 
stop  for  an  instant  to  look  for  the  purpose  of  seeing 
what  was  up  in  jungleland;  and  just  before  doing  so 
he  would,  for  a  few  steps,  slow  down  from  a  gallop  to 
a  trot.  McMillan  was  watching  for  this  symptom. 

"Now!"  he  yelled,  when  he  saw  it. 

Instantly  Michael  threw  his  weight  into  the  right 

384 


'Donya  Sabuk — the  Mountain  of  Buffaloes — is  the  only 
landmark." 


"Juja  Farm." 


A  VISIT  AT  JUJA 

rein  and  against  the  brake.  We  swerved  so  vio- 
lently to  the  right  and  stopped  so  suddenly  that  I 
nearly  landed  on  the  broad  prairies.  The  manoeuvre 
fetched  us  up  broadside.  The  small  black  syce  — 
and  heaven  knows  how  he  had  managed  to  hang  on 
—  darted  to  the  heads  of  the  leading  mules.  At  the 
same  moment  the  wildebeeste  turned,  and  stopped; 
but  even  before  he  had  swung  his  head,  McMillan 
had  fired.  It  was  extraordinarily  good,  quick  work, 
the  way  he  picked  up  the  long  range  from  the  spurts 
of  dust  where  the  bullets  hit.  At  the  third  or  fourth 
shots  he  landed  one.  Immediately  the-  beast  was 
off  again  at  a  tearing  run  pursued  by  a  rapid  fusil- 
lade from  the  remaining  shots.  Then  with  a  violent 
jerk  and  a  wild  yell  we  were  off  again. 

This  time,  since  the  animal  was  wounded,  he 
made  for  rougher  country.  And  everywhere  that 
wildebeeste  went  we  too  were  sure  to  go.  We  hit 
or  shaved  boulders  that  ought  to  have  smashed  a 
wheel,  we  tore  through  thick  brush  regardless. 
Twice  we  charged  unhesitatingly  over  apparent  prec- 
ipices. I  do  not  know  the  name  of  the  manufac- 
turer of  the  buckboard.  If  I  did,  I  should  certainly 
recommend  it  here.  Twice  more  we  swerved  to  our 
broadside  and  cut  loose  the  port  batteries.  Once 
more  McMillan  hit.  Then,  on  the  fourth  "run," 
we  gained  perceptibly.  The  beast  was  weakening. 

385 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

When  he  came  to  a  stumbling  halt  we  were  not  over 
a  hundred  yards  from  him,  and  McMillan  easily 
brought  him  down.  We  had  chased  him  four  or 
five  miles,  and  McMillan  had  fired  nineteen  shots,  of 
which  two  had  hit.  The  rifle  practice  throughout 
had  been  remarkably  good,  and  a  treat  to  watch. 
Personally,  besides  the  fun  of  attending  the  show, 
I  got  a  mighty  good  afternoon's  exercise. 

We  loaded  the  game  aboard  and  jogged  slowly  back 
to  the  house,  for  the  mules  were  pretty  tired.     We 
found  a  neighbour,  Mr.  Heatley  of  Kamiti  Ranch 
who  had  "dropped  down"  twelve  miles  to  see  us. 

On  account  of  a  theft  McMillan  now  had  all  the 
Somalis  assembled  for  interrogation  on  the  side 
verandas.  The  interrogation  did  not  amount  to 
much;  but  while  it  was  going  on  the  Sudanese  head- 
man and  his  askaris  were  quietly  searching  the  boys' 
quarters.  After  a  time  they  appeared.  The  sus- 
pected men  had  concealed  nothing:  but  the  searchers 
brought  with  them  three  of  McMillan's  shirts  which 
they  had  found  among  the  effects  of  another,  and 
entirely  unsuspected,  boy  named  Abadie. 

"How  is  this,  Abadie?"  demanded  McMillan 
sternly. 

Abadie  hesitated.  Then  he  evidently  reflected 
that  there  is  slight  use  in  having  a  deity  unless  one 
makes  use  of  him. 

386 


A  VISIT  AT  JUJA 

"Bwana,"  said  he  with  an  engaging  air  of  belief 
and  candour,  "God  must  have  put  them  there  !" 

That  evening  we  planned  a  "general  day"  for  the 
morrow.  We  took  boys  and  buckboards  and  saddle- 
horses,  beaters,  shotguns,  rifles,  and  revolvers,  and 
we  sallied  forth  for  a  grand  and  joyous  time.  The 
day  from  a  sporting  standpoint  was  entirely  suc- 
cessful, the  bag  consisting  of  two  waterbuck,  a  zebra, 
a  big  wart-hog,  six  hares,  and  six  grouse.  Personally 
I  was  a  little  hazy  and  uncertain.  By  evening  the 
fever  had  me,  and  though  I  stayed  at  Juja  for  six 
days  longer,  it  was  as  a  patient  to  McMillan's  un- 
failing kindness  rather  than  as  a  participant  in  the 
life  of  the  farm. 


XXVIII 
A  RESIDENCE  AT  JUJA 

A  SHORT  time  later,  at  about  the  middle  of  th« 
rainy  season,  McMillan  left  for  a  little  fishing 
off  Catalina  Island.  The  latter  is  some  fourteen 
thousand  miles  of  travel  from  Juja.  Before  leaving 
on  this  flying  trip,  McMillan  made  us  a  gorgeous 
offer. 

"If,"  said  he," you  want  to  go  it  alone,  you  can  go 
out  and  use  Juja  as  long  as  you  please." 

This  offer,  or,  rather,  a  portion  of  it,  you  may  be 
sure,  we  accepted  promptly.  McMillan  wanted  in 
addition  to  leave  us  his  servants;  but  to  this  we 
would  not  agree.  Memba  Sasa  and  Mahomet  were, 
of  course,  members  of  our  permanent  staff.  In 
addition  to  them  we  picked  up  another  house  boy, 
named  Leyeye.  He  was  a  Masai.  These  proud 
and  aristocratic  savages  rarely  condescend  to  take 
service  of  any  sort  except  as  herders;  but  when  they 
do  they  prove  to  be  unusually  efficient  and  intelli- 
gent. We  had  also  a  Somali  cook,  and  six  ordinary 
bearers  to  do  general  labour.  This  small  safari  we 

388 


A  RESIDENCE  AT  JUJA 

started  off  afoot  for  Juja.  The  whole  lot  cost  us 
about  what  we  would  pay  one  Chinaman  on  the 
Pacific  Coast. 

Next  day  we  ourselves  drove  out  in  the  mule 
buckboard.  The  rains  were  on,  and  the  road  was 
very  muddy.  After  the  vital  tropical  fashion  the 
grass  was  springing  tall  in  the  natural  meadows  and 
on  the  plains  and  the  brief-lived  white  lilies  and  an 
abundance  of  ground  flowers  washed  the  slopes  with 
colour.  Beneath  the  grass  covering,  the  entire  sur- 
face of  the  ground  was  an  inch  or  so  deep  in  water. 
This  was  always  most  surprising,  for,  apparently,  the 
whole  country  should  have  been  high  and  dry. 
Certainly  its  level  was  that  of  a  plateau  rather  than 
a  bottom  land;  so  that  one  seemed  always  to  be 
travelling  at  an  elevation.  Nevertheless  walking  or 
riding  we  were  continually  splashing,  and  the  only 
dry  going  outside  the  occasional  rare  "islands"  of 
the  slight  undulations  we  found  near  the  very  edge 
of  the  bluffs  above  the  rivers.  There  the  drainage 
seemed  sufficient  to  carry  off  the  excess.  Elsewhere 
the  hardpan  or  bedrock  must  have  been  excep- 
tionally level  and  near  the  top  of  the  ground. 

Nothing  nor  nobody  seemed  to  mind  this  much. 
The  game  splashed  around  merrily,  cropping  at  the 
tall  grass;  the  natives  slopped  indifferently,  and  we 
ourselves  soon  became  so  accustomed  to  two  or 

389 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

three  inches  of  water  and  wet  feet  that  after  the 
first  two  days  we  never  gave  those  phenomena  a 
thought. 

The  world  above  at  this  season  of  the  year  was 
magnificent.  The  African  heavens  are  always 
widely  spacious,  but  now  they  seemed  to  have  blown 
even  vaster  than  usual.  In  the  sweep  of  the  vision 
four  or  five  heavy  black  rainstorms  would  be  trailing 
their  skirts  across  an  infinitely  remote  prospect; 
between  them  white  piled  scud  clouds  and  cumuli 
sailed  like  ships;  and  from  them  reflected  so  bril- 
liant a  sunlight  and  behind  all  showed  so  dazzling  a 
blue  sky  that  the  general  impression  was  of  a  fine 
day.  The  rainstorms'  gray  veils  slanted;  tremen- 
dous patches  of  shadow  lay  becalmed  on  the  plains; 
bright  sunshine  poured  abundantly  its  warmth  and 
yellow  light. 

So  brilliant  with  both  direct  and  reflected  light 
and  the  values  of  contrast  were  the  heavens,  that 
when  one  happened  to  stand  within  one  of  the  great 
shadows  it  became  extraordinarily  difficult  to  make 
out  game  on  the  plains.  The  pupils  contracted  to 
the  brilliancy  overhead.  Often  too,  near  sunset, 
the  atmosphere  would  become  suffused  with  a  lurid 
saffron  light  that  made  everything  unreal  and 
ghastly.  At  such  times  the  game  seemed  puzzled  by 
the  unusual  aspect  of  things.  The  zebra  espe- 

390 


A  RESIDENCE  AT  JUJA 

daily  would  bark  and  stamp  and  stand  their  ground, 
and  even  come  nearer  out  of  sheer  curiosity.  I  have 
thus  been  within  fifty  yards  of  them,  right  out  in 
the  open.  At  such  times  it  was  as  though  the  sky, 
instead  of  rounding  over  in  the  usual  shape,  had 
been  thrust  up  at  the  western  horizon  to  the  same 
incredible  height  as  the  zenith.  In  the  space  thus 
created  were  piled  great  clouds  through  which 
slanted  broad  bands  of  yellow  light  on  a  diminished 
world. 

It  rained  with  great  suddenness  on  our  devoted 
heads,  and  with  a  curious  effect  of  metamorphosing 
the  entire  universe.  One  moment  all  was  clear  and 
smiling,  with  the  trifling  exception  of  distant  rain 
squalls  that  amounted  to  nothing  in  the  general 
scheme.  Then  the  horizon  turned  black,  and  with 
incredible  swiftness  the  dark  clouds  materialized 
out  of  nothing,  rolled  high  to  the  zenith  like  a  wave, 
blotted  out  every  last  vestige  of  brightness.  A 
heavy  oppressive  still  darkness  breathed  over  the 
earth.  Then  through  the  silence  came  a  faraway 
soft  drumming  sound,  barely  to  be  heard.  As  we 
bent  our  ears  to  catch  this  it  grew  louder  and  louder, 
approaching  at  breakneck  speed  like  a  troop  of 
horses.  It  became  a  roar  fairly  terrifying  in  its 
mercilessly  continued  crescendo.  At  last  the  deluge 
of  rain  burst  actually  as  a  relief. 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

And  what  a  deluge!  Facing  it  we  found  difficulty 
in  breathing.  In  six  seconds  every  stitch  we  wore 
was  soaked  through,  and  only  the  notebook,  to- 
bacco, and  matches  bestowed  craftily  in  the  crown 
of  the  cork  helmet  escaped.  The  visible  world  was 
dark  and  contracted.  It  seemed  that  nothing  but 
rain  could  anywhere  exist;  as  though  this  storm  must 
fill  all  space  to  the  horizon  and  beyond.  Then  it 
swept  on  and  we  found  ourselves  steaming  in  bright 
sunlight.  The  dry  flat  prairie  (if  this  was  the  first 
shower  for  some  time)  had  suddenly  become  a  lake 
from  the  surface  of  which  projected  bushes  and 
clumps  of  grass.  Every  game  trail  had  become  the 
water  course  of  a  swiftly  running  brook. 

But  most  pleasant  were  the  evenings  at  Juja, 
when,  safe  indoors,  we  sat  and  listened  to  the  charge 
of  the  storm's  wild  horsemen,  and  the  thunder  of  its 
drumming  on  the  tin  roof.  The  onslaughts  were  as 
fierce  and  abrupt  as  those  of  Cossacks,  and  swept  by 
as  suddenly.  The  roar  died  away  in  the  distance, 
and  we  could  then  hear  the  steady  musical  dripping 
of  waters. 

Pleasant  it  was  also  to  walk  out  from  Juja  in  al- 
most any  direction.  The  compound,  and  the  build- 
ings and  trees  within  it,  soon  dwindled  in  the  dis- 
tances of  the  great  flat  plain.  Herds  of  game  were 
always  in  sight,  grazing,  lying  down,  staring  in  our 

392 


A  RESIDENCE  AT  JUJA 

direction.  The  animals  were  incredibly  numerous. 
Some  days  they  were  fairly  tame,  and  others  ex- 
ceedingly wild,  without  any  rhyme  or  reason.  This 
shyness  or  the  reverse  seemed  not  to  be  individual 
to  one  herd;  but  to  be  practically  universal.  On  a 
"wild  day"  everything  was  wild  from  the  Lone  Tree 
to  Long  Juju.  It  would  be  manifestly  absurd  to 
guess  at  the  reason.  Possibly  the  cause  might  be 
atmospheric  or  electrical;  possibly  days  of  nervous- 
ness might  follow  nights  of  unusual  activity  by  the 
lions;  one  could  invent  a  dozen  possibilities.  Per- 
haps the  kongonis  decided  it. 

At  Juja  we  got  to  know  the  kongonis  even  better 
than  we  had  before.  They  are  comical,  quizzical 
beasts,  with  long-nosed  humorous  faces,  a  singu- 
larly awkward  construction,  a  shambling  gait;  but 
with  altruistic  dispositions  and  an  ability  to  get  over 
the  ground  at  an  extraordinary  speed.  Every  move 
is  a  joke;  their  expression  is  always  one  of  grieved 
but  humorous  astonishment.  They  quirk  their 
heads  sidewise  or  down  and  stare  at  an  intruder  with 
the  most  comical  air  of  skeptical  wonder.  "Well, 
look  who's  here!"  says  the  expression. 

"Pooh!"  says  the  kongoni  himself,  after  a  good 
look,  "pooh!  pooh!"  with  the  most  insulting  in- 
flection. 

He  is  very  numerous  and  very  alert.     One  or  more 

393 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

of  a  grazing  herd  are  always  perched  as  sentinels 
atop  ant  hills  or  similar  small  elevations.  On  the 
slightest  intimation  of  danger  they  give  the  alarm, 
whereupon  the  herd  makes  off  at  once,  gathering  in 
all  other  miscellaneous  game  that  may  be  in  the 
vicinity.  They  will  go  out  of  their  way  to  do  this, 
as  every  African  hunter  knows.  It  immensely  com- 
plicates matters;  for  the  sportsman  must  not  only 
stalk  his  quarry,  but  he  must  stalk  each  and  every 
kongoni  as  well.  Once,  in  another  part  of  the  coun- 
try, C.  and  I  saw  a  kongoni  leave  a  band  of  its  own 
species  far  down  to  our  right,  gallop  toward  us  and 
across  our  front,  pick  up  a  herd  of  zebra  we  were 
trying  to  approach  and  make  off  with  them  to  safety. 
We  cursed  that  kongoni,  but  we  admired  him,  for 
he  deliberately  ran  out  of  safety  into  danger  for  the 
purpose  of  warning  those  zebra.  So  seriously  do 
they  take  their  job  as  policemen  of  the  plains  that 
it  is  very  common  for  a  lazy  single  animal  of  another 
species  to  graze  in  a  herd  of  kongonis  simply  for  the 
sake  of  protection.  Wildebeeste  are  much  given  to 
this. 

The  kongoni  progresses  by  a  series  of  long  high 
bounds.  While  in  midair  he  half  tucks  up  his  feet, 
which  gives  him  the  appearance  of  an  automatic 
toy.  This  gait  looks  deliberate,  but  is  really  quite 
fast;  as  the  mounted  sportsman  discover*  when  he 

394 


A  RESIDENCE  AT  JUJA 

enters  upon  a  vain  pursuit.  If  the  horse  is  an  es- 
pecially good  one,  so  that  the  kongoni  feels  himself 
a  trifle  closely  pressed,  the  latter  stops  bouncing  and 
runs.  Then  he  simply  fades  away  into  the  distance. 
These  beasts  are  also  given  to  chasing  each  other 
all  over  the  landscape.  When  a  gentleman  kongoni 
conceives  a  dislike  for  another  gentleman  kongoni, 
he  makes  no  concealment  of  his  emotions;  but 
marches  up  and  prods  him  in  the  ribs.  The  en- 
suing battle  is  usually  fought  out  very  stubbornly 
with  much  feinting,  parrying,  clashing  of  the  lyre- 
shaped  horns;  and  a  good  deal  of  crafty  circling  for  a 
favourable  opening.  As  far  as  I  was  ever  able  to  see 
not  much  real  damage  is  inflicted;  though  I  could  well 
imagine  that  only  skilful  fence  prevented  unpleasant 
punctures  in  soft  spots.  After  a  time  one  or  the 
other  feels  himself  weakening.  He  dashes  strongly 
in,  wheels  while  his  antagonist  is  braced,  and  makes 
off.  The  enemy  pursues.  Then,  apparently,  the 
chase  is  on  for  the  rest  of  the  day.  The  victor  is 
not  content  merely  to  drive  his  rival  out  of  the  coun- 
try; he  wants  to  catch  him.  On  that  object  he  is 
very  intent;  about  as  intent  as  the  other  fellow  is  of 
getting  away.  I  have  seen  two  such  beasts  almost 
run  over  a  dozen  men  who  were  making  no  effort 
to  keep  out  of  sight.  Long  after  honour  is  satis- 
fied, indeed,  as  it  seems  to  me,  long  after  the  dic- 

395 


tates  of  common  decency  would  call  a  halt  that  per- 
sistent and  single-minded  pursuer  bounds  solemnly 
and  conscientiously  along  in  the  wake  of  his  dis- 
gusted rival. 

These  and  the  zebra  and  wildebeeste  were  at  Juja 
the  most  conspicuous  game  animals.  If  they  could 
not  for  the  moment  be  seen  from  the  veranda 
of  the  house  itself,  a  short  walk  to  the  gate  was  suf- 
ficient to  reveal  many  hundreds.  Among  them  fed 
herds  of  the  smaller  Thompson's  gazelle,  or  "Tom- 
mies." So  small  were  they  that  only  their  heads 
could  be  seen  above  the  tall  grass  as  they  ran. 

To  me  there  was  never-ending  fascination  in  walk- 
ing out  over  those  sloppy  plains  in  search  of  adven- 
ture, and  in  the  pleasure  of  watching  the  beasts. 
Scarcely  less  fascination  haunted  a  stroll  down  the 
river  canons  or  along  the  tops  of  the  bluffs  above 
them.  Here  the  country  was  broken  into  rocky 
escarpments  in  which  were  caves;  was  clothed  with 
low  and  scattered  brush;  or  was  wooded  in  the  bot- 
tom lands.  Naturally  an  entirely  different  set  of 
animals  dwelt  here;  and  in  addition  one  was  often 
treated  to  the  romance  of  surprise.  Herds  of  im- 
palla  haunted  these  edges;  graceful  creatures,  trim 
and  pretty  with  wide  horns  and  beautiful  glowing 
red  coats.  Sometimes  they  would  venture  out  on 
the  open  plains,  in  a  very  compact  band,  ready  to 


break  back  for  cover  at  the  slightest  alarm;  but 
generally  fed  inside  the  fringe  of  bushes.  Once  from 
the  bluff  above  I  saw  a  beautiful  herd  of  over  a  hun- 
dred pacing  decorously  along  the  river  bottom  be- 
low me,  single  file,  the  oldest  buck  at  the  head,  and 
the  miscellaneous  small  buck  bringing  up  the  rear 
after  the  does.  I  shouted  at  them.  Immediately 
the  solemn  procession  broke.  They  began  to  leap, 
springing  straight  up  into  the  air  as  though  from  a 
released  spring,  or  diving  forward  and  upward  in 
long  graceful  bounds  like  dolphins  at  sea.  These 
leaps  were  incredible.  Several  even  jumped  quite 
over  the  backs  of  others;  and  all  without  a  semblance 
of  effort. 

Along  the  fringe  of  the  river,  too,  dwelt  the  lordly 
waterbuck,  magnificent  and  proud  as  the  stags  of 
Landseer;  and  the  tiny  steinbuck  and  duiker,  no 
bigger  than  jack-rabbits,  but  perfect  little  deer  for 
all  that.  The  incredibly  plebeian  wart-hog  rooted 
about;  and  down  in  the  bottom  lands  were  leopards. 
I  knocked  one  off  a  rock  one  day.  In  the  river  itself 
dwelt  hippopotamuses  and  crocodiles.  One  of  the 
latter  dragged  under  a  yearling  calf  just  below 
the  house  itself,  and  while  we  were  there.  Besides 
these  were  of  course  such  affairs  as  hyenas  and 
jackals,  and  great  numbers  of  small  game:  hares, 
ducks,  three  kinds  of  grouse,  guinea  fowl,  pigeons, 

397 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

quail,  and  jack  snipe,  not  to  speak  of  a  variety  of 
plover. 

In  the  drier  extents  of  dry  grass  atop  the  bluffs 
the  dance  birds  were  especially  numerous;  each  with 
his  dance  ring  nicely  trodden  out,  each  leaping  and 
falling  rhythmically  for  hours  at  a  time.  Toward 
sunset  great  flights  of  sand  grouse  swarmed  across 
the  yellowing  sky  from  some  distant  feeding  ground. 

Near  Juja  I  had  one  of  the  three  experiences  that 
especially  impressed  on  my  mind  the  abundance  of 
African  big  game.  I  had  stalked  and  wounded  a 
wildebeeste  across  the  N'derogo  River,  and  had  fol- 
lowed him  a  mile  or  so  afoot,  hoping  to  be  able  to  put 
in  a  finishing  shot.  As  sometimes  happens  the  ani- 
mal rather  gained  strength  as  time  went  on;  so  I 
signalled  for  my  horse,  mounted,  and  started  out  to 
run  him  down.  After  a  quarter  mile  we  began  to 
pick  up  the  game  herds.  Those  directly  in  our 
course  ran  straight  away;  other  herds  on  either  side, 
seeing  them  running,  came  across  in  a  slant  to  join 
them.  Inside  of  a  half  mile  I  was  driving  before  me 
literally  thousands  of  head  of  game  of  several  va- 
rieties. The  dust  rose  in  a  choking  cloud  that  fairly 
obscured  the  landscape,  and  the  drumming  of  the 
hooves  was  like  the  stampeding  of  cattle.  It  was 
&  wonderful  sight. 

On  the  plains  of  Juja,  al»o,  I  had  my  one  real 


A  RESIDENCE  AT  JUJA 

African  Adventure,  when,  as  in  the  Sunday  Supple- 
ments, I  Stared  Death  in  the  Face  —  also  everlast- 
ing disgrace  and  much  derision.  We  were  just 
returning  to  the  farm  after  an  afternoon's  walk,  and 
as  we  approached  I  began  to  look  around  for  much 
needed  meat.  A  herd  of  zebra  stood  in  sight;  so 
leaving  Memba  Sasa  I  began  to  stalk  them.  My 
usual  weapon  for  this  sort  of  thing  was  the  Spring- 
field, for  which  I  carried  extra  cartridges  in  my  belt. 
On  this  occasion,  however,  I  traded  with  Memba 
Sasa  for  the  405,  simply  for  the  purpose  of  trying  it 
out.  At  a  few  paces  over  three  hundred  yards  I 
landed  on  the  zebra,  but  did  not  knock  him  down. 
Then  I  set  out  to  follow.  It  was  a  long  job  and  took 
me  far,  for  again  and  again  he  joined  other  zebra, 
when,  of  course,  I  could  not  tell  one  from  t'other. 
My  only  expedient  was  to  frighten  the  lot.  There- 
upon the  uninjured  ones  would  distance  the  one  that 
was  hurt.  The  latter  kept  his  eye  on  me.  When- 
ever I  managed  to  get  within  reasonable  distance,  I 
put  up  the  rear  sight  of  the  405,  and  let  drive.  I 
heard  every  shot  hit,and  after  each  hit  was  more  than 
a  little  astonished  to  see  the  zebra  still  on  his  feet, 
and  still  able  to  wobble  on.*  The  fifth  shot  emptied 

*I  am  sorry  I  did  not  try  out  this  heavy-calibred  rifle  oftener  at  long  range. 
It  was  a  marvellously  effective  weapon  at  close  quarters;  but  I  have  an  idea  — 
but  only  a  tentative  idea  —  that  above  three  hundred  yards  its  velocity  is  »o 
reduced  by  air  resistance  against  the  big  blunt  bullet  aa  greatly  to  impair  its 
hitting  powers. 

399 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

the  rifle.  As  I  had  no  more  cartridges  for  this  arm, 
I  approached  to  within  sixty  yards,  and  stopped  to 
wait  either  for  him  to  fall,  or  for  a  very  distant 
Memba  Sasa  to  come  up  with  more  cartridges. 
Then  the  zebra  waked  up.  He  put  his  ears  back  and 
came  straight  in  my  direction.  This  rush  I  took  for 
a  blind  death  flurry,  and  so  dodged  off  to  one  side, 
thinking  that  he  would  of  course  go  by  me.  Not  at 
all!  He  swung  around  on  the  circle  too,  and  made 
after  me.  I  could  see  that  his  ears  were  back,  his 
eyes  blazing,  and  his  teeth  snapping  with  rage.  It 
was  a  malicious  charge,  and,  as  such,  with  due  de- 
liberation, I  offer  it  to  sportsman's  annals.  As  I  had 
no  more  cartridges  I  ran  away  as  fast  as  I  could  go. 
Although  I  made  rather  better  time  than  ever  I  had 
attained  to  before,  it  was  evident  that  the  zebra 
would  catch  me;  and  as  the  brute  could  paw,  bite, 
and  kick,  I  did  not  much  care  for  the  situation. 
Just  as  he  had  nearly  reached  me,  and  as  I  was  trying 
to  figure  on  what  kind  of  a  fight  I  could  put  up  with 
a  clubbed  rifle  barrel,  he  fell  dead.  To  be  killed 
by  a  lion  is  at  least  a  dignified  death;  but  to  be 
mauled  by  a  zebra! 

We  generally  got  back  from  our  walks  or  rides 
just  before  dark;  to  find  the  house  gleaming  with 
lights,  a  hot  bath  ready,  and  a  tray  of  good  wet 
drinks  next  the  easy  chairs.  There,  after  changing 

400 


"  Squatting  on  their  heels  and  pulling  methodically 
but  slowly  at  the  weeds." 


"Ostriches  at  Long  Juja." 


At  Long  Juja — a  strictly  utilitarian  farm. 


A  RESIDENCE  AT  JUJA 

our  clothes,  we  sipped  and  read  the  papers  —  two 
months  off  the  press,  but  fresh  arrived  for  all  that  — 
until  a  white- robed,  dignified  figure  appeared  in  the 
doorway  to  inform  us  that  dinner  was  ready.  Our 
ways  were  civilized  and  soft,  then,  until  the  morrow 
when  once  again,  perhaps,  we  went  forth  into  the 
African  wilderness. 

Juja  is  a  place  of  startling  contrasts  —  of  naked 
savages  clipping  formal  hedges,  of  windows  opening 
from  a  perfectly  appointed  brilliantly  lighted  dining- 
room  to  a  night  whence  float  the  lost  wails  of  hyenas 
or  the  deep  grumbling  of  lions,  of  cushioned  luxu- 
rious chairs  in  reach  of  many  books,  but  looking  out 
on  hills  where  the  game  herds  feed,  of  comfortable 
beds  with  fine  linen  and  soft  blankets  where  one  lies 
listening  to  the  voices  of  an  African  night,  or  the 
weirder  minor  house  noises  whose  origin  and  nature 
no  man  could  guess,  of  tennis  courts  and  summer 
houses,  of  lawns  and  hammocks,  of  sundials  and 
clipped  hedges  separated  only  by  a  few  strands  of 
woven  wire  from  fields  identical  with  those  in  which 
roamed  the  cave  men  of  the  pleistocene.  But  to 
Billy  was  reserved  the  most  ridiculous  contrast  of 
all.  Her  bedroom  opened  to  a  veranda  a  few  feet 
above  a  formal  garden.  This  was  a  very  formal 
garden,  with  a  sundial,  gravelled  walks,  bordered 
flower  beds,  and  clipped  border  hedges.  One  night 

401 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

she  heard  a  noise  outside.  Slipping  on  a  warm  wrap 
and  seizing  her  trusty  revolver  she  stole  out  on  the 
veranda  to  investigate.  She  looked  over  the  ve- 
randa rail.  There  just  below  her,  trampling  the 
flower  beds,  tracking  the  gravel  walks,  endangering 
the  sundial,  stood  a  hippopotamus! 

We  had  neighbours  six  or  seven  miles  away.  At 
times  they  came  down  to  spend  the  night  and 
luxuriate  in  the  comforts  of  civilization.  They 
were  a  Lady  A.,  and  her  nephew,  and  a  young  Scotch 
acquaintance  the  nephew  had  taken  into  partner- 
ship. They  had  built  themselves  circular  houses  of 
papyrus  reeds  with  conical  thatched  roofs  and  earth 
floors,  had  purchased  ox  teams  and  gathered  a  dozen 
or  so  Kikuyus,  and  were  engaged  in  breaking  a  farm 
in  the  wilderness.  The  life  was  rough  and  hard,  and 
Lady  A.  and  her  nephew  gently  bred,  but  they  seemed 
to  be  having  quite  cheerfully  the  time  of  their  lives. 
The  game  furnished  them  meat,  as  it  did  all  of  us, 
and  they  hoped  in  time  that  their  labours  would 
make  the  land  valuable  and  productive.  Fascinat- 
ing as  was  the  life,  it  was  also  one  of  many  depriva- 
tions. At  Juja  were  a  number  of  old  copies  of  Liff, 
the  pretty  girls  in  which  so  fascinated  the  young  men 
that  we  broke  the  laws  of  propriety  by  presenting 
them,  though  they  did  not  belong  to  us.  C.,  the 
nephew,  was  of  the  finest  type  of  young  Englishman, 

402 


A  RESIDENCE  AT  JUJA 

clean  cut,  enthusiastic,  good  looking,  with  an  air  of 
engaging  vitality  and  optimism.  His  partner,  of 
his  own  age,  was  an  insufferable  youth.  Brought  up 
in  some  small  Scottish  valley,  his  outlook  had  never 
widened.  Because  he  wanted  to  buy  four  oxen  at 
a  cheaper  price,  he  tried  desperately  to  abrogate 
quarantine  regulations.  If  he  had  succeeded,  he 
would  have  made  a  few  rupees,  but  would  have  in- 
troduced disease  in  his  neighbours'  herds.  This 
consideration  did  not  affect  him.  He  was  much 
given  to  sneering  at  what  he  could  not  understand; 
and  therefore,  a  great  deal  met  with  his  disapproval. 
His  reading  had  evidently  brought  him  down  only  to 
about  the  middle  sixties;  and  affairs  at  that  date  were 
to  him  still  burning,  questions.  Thus  he  would  de- 
claim vehemently  over  the  Alabama  claims. 

"I  blush  with  shame,"  he  would  cry,  "when  I 
think  of  England's  attitude  in  that  matter." 

We  pointed  out  that  the  dispute  had  been  ami- 
cably settled  by  the  best  minds  of  the  time,  had 
passed  between  the  covers  of  history,  and  had  given 
way  in  immediate  importance  to  several  later  topics. 

"This  vacillating  policy,"  he  swept  on,  "annoys 
me.  For  my  part,  I  should  like  to  see  so  firm  a  stand 
taken  on  all  questions  that  in  any  part  of  the  world, 
whenever  a  man,  and  wherever  a  man,  said  'I  am 
an  Englishman !'  everybody  else  would  draw  back! " 

m 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

He  was  an  incredible  person.  However,  I  was 
glad  to  see  him;  he  and  a  few  others  of  his  kind  have 
consoled  me  for  a  number  of  Americans  I  have  met 
abroad.  Lady  A.,  with  the  tolerant  philosophy  of 
her  class,  seemed  merely  amused.  I  have  often 
since  wondered  how  this  ill-assorted  partnership 
turned  out. 

Two  other  neighbours  of  ours  dropped  in  once  or 
twice  —  twenty-six  miles  on  bicycles,  on  which  they 
could  ride  only  a  portion  of  the  distance.  They 
had  some  sort  of  a  ranch  up  in  the  Ithanga  Hills; 
and  were  two  of  the  nicest  fellows  one  would  want  to 
meet,  brimful  of  energy,  game  for  anything,  and  had 
so  good  a  time  always  that  the  grumpiest  fever  could 
not  prevent  every  one  else  having  a  good  time  too. 
Once  they  rode  on  their  bicycles  forty  miles  to  Nai- 
robi, danced  half  the  night  at  a  Government  House 
ball,  rode  back  in  the  early  morning,  and  did  an 
afternoon's  plowing!  They  explained  this  feat  by 
pointing  out  most  convincingly  that  the  ground  was 
just  right  for  plowing,  but  they  did  not  want  to 
miss  the  ball! 

Occasionally  a  trim  and  dapper  police  official 
would  drift  in  on  horseback  looking  for  native  crim- 
inals; and  once  a  safari  came  by.  Twelve  miles 
away  was  the  famous  Kamiti  Farm  of  Heatly, 
where  Roosevelt  killed  his  buffalo;  a,nd  once  or 

404 


A  RESIDENCE  AT  JUJA 

twice  Heatly  himself,  a  fine  chap,  came  to  see  us. 
Also  just  before  I  left  with  Duirs  for  a  lion  hunt  on 
Kapiti,  Lady  Girouard,  wife  of  the  Governor,  and 
her  nephew  and  niece  rode  out  for  a  hunt.  In  the 
African  fashion,  all  these  people  brought  their  own 
personal  servants.  It  makes  entertaining  easy. 
Nobody  knows  where  all  these  boys  sleep;  but  they 
manage  to  tuck  away  somewhere,  and  always  show 
up  after  a  mysterious  system  of  their  own  whenever 
there  is  anything  to  be  done. 

We  stayed  at  Juja  a  little  over  three  weeks.  Then 
most  reluctantly  said  farewell  and  returned  to  Nai- 
robi in  preparation  for  a  long  trip  to  the  south. 


405 


XXIX 
CHAPTER  THE  LAST 

WITH  our  return  from  Juja  to  Nairobi  for  a 
breathing  space,  this  volume  comes  to  a  logical 
conclusion.  In  it  I  have  tried  to  give  a  fairly  com- 
prehensive impression  —  it  could  hardly  be  a  pic- 
ture of  so  large  a  subject  —  of  a  portion  of  East 
Equatorial  Africa,  its  animals,  and  its  people. 
Those  who  are  sufficiently  interested  will  have  an 
opportunity  in  a  succeeding  volume  of  wandering 
with  us  even  farther  afield.  The  low  jungly  coast 
region;  the  fierce  desert  of  the  Serengetti;  the  swift 
sullen  rhinoceros-haunted  stretches  of  the  Tsavo; 
Nairobi,  the  strangest  mixture  of  the  twentieth  cen- 
turies A.  D.  and  B.  C.;  Mombasa  with  its  wild,  bar- 
baric passionate  ebb  and  flow  of  life,  of  colour,  of 
throbbing  sound,  the  great  lions  of  the  Kapiti  Plains, 
the  Thirst  of  the  Loieta,  the  Masai  spearmen,  the  long 
chase  for  the  greater  kudu;  the  wonderful,  high  un- 
known country  beyond  the  Narossara  and  other  af- 
fairs will  there  be  detailed.  If  the  reader  of  this 
volume  happens  to  want  more,  there  he  will  find  it. 

406 


APPENDIX    I 

MOST  people  are  very  much  interested  in  how  hot 
it  gets  in  such  tropics  as  we  traversed.  Unfortu- 
nately it  is  very  difficult  to  tell  them.  Tempera- 
ture tables  have  very  little  to  do  with  the  matter, 
for  humidity  varies  greatly.  On  the  Serengetti  and 
lower  reaches  of  the  Guaso  Nyero  I  have  seen  it  well 
above  1 10  degrees.  It  was  hot,  to  be  sure,  but  not  ex- 
haustingly  so.  On  the  other  hand,  at  90  or  95  along 
the  low  coast  belt  I  have  had  the  sweat  run  from  me 
literally  in  streams;  so  that  a  muddy  spot  formed 
wherever  I  stood  still.  In  the  highlands,  moreover, 
the  nights  were  often  extremely  cold.  I  have  re- 
corded night  temperatures  as  low  as  40  at  7,000 
feet  of  elevation;  and  noon  temperatures  as  low  as 
65. 

Of  more  importance  than  the  actual  or  sensible 
temperature  of  the  air  is  the  power  of  the  sun's 
rays.  At  all  times  of  year  this  is  practically  con- 
stant; for  the  orb  merely  swings  a  few  degrees  north 
and  south  of  the  equator,  and  the  extreme  difference 
in  time  between  its  risings  or  settings  is  not  more 
than  twenty  minutef.  This  power  is  also  practi- 

407 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 


cally  constant  whatever  the  temperature  of  the  air 
and  is  dangerous  even  on  a  cloudy  day,  when  the 
heat  waves  are  effectually  screened  off,  but  when  the 
actinic  rays  are  as  active  as  ever.  For  this  reason 
the  protection  of  helmet  and  spine  pad  should  never 
be  omitted,  no  matter  what  the  condition  of  the 
weather,  between  nine  o'clock  and  four.  A  very 
brief  exposure  is  likely  to  prove  fatal.  It  should  be 
added  that  some  people  stand  these  actinic  rays 
better  than  others. 

Such  being  the  case,  mere  temperature  tables 
could  have  little  interest  to  the  general  reader.  I 
append  a  few  statistics,  selected  from  many,  and  il- 
lustrative of  the  different  conditions. 


Locality. 


Coast      .     .     . 
Isiola  River 
Tana  River 
Near  Meru 
Serengetti  Plains 
Narossara  River 
Narossara  Mts. 
Narossara  Mts. 


Eleva-  6  8  Apparent  conditions 

tion.  a.m.  noon.  p.m. 

80      90  76  Very  hot  and  sticky 

2900  65  94  84  Hot  but  not  exhausting 

3350  68  98  79  Hot  but  not  exhausting 

5450  62  80  70  Very  pleasant 

2200  78  106  86  Hot  and  humid 

5450  54  89  69  Pleasant 

7400  42  80  50  Chilly 

6450  40  62  52  Cold 


408 


APPENDIX  II 


GAME    ANIMALS    COLLECTED 


Lion 

Serval  cat 
Cheetah 

Black-backed  jackal 
Silver  jackal 
Striped  hyena 
Spotted  hyena 
Fennec  fox 
Honey  badger 
Aardewolf 
Wart-hog 
Waterbuck 
Sing-sing 
Oribi  (3  varieties) 
Eland 
Giraffe 

Roan  antelope 
Bushbuck 
Total,  fifty-four  kinds 


Bush  pig 

Baboon 

Colobus 

Hippopotamus 

Rhinoceros 

Crocodile 

Python 

Ward's  zebra 

Grevy's  zebra 

Notata  gazelle 

Roberts'  gazelle 

Klipspringer 

Dik-dik 

Wildebeeste 

Roosevelt's  wildebeeste 

Steinbuck 

Buffalo 

Topi 


Grant's  gazelle 
Thompson's  gazelle 
Gerenuk  gazelle 
Coke's  hartebeests 
Jackson's  hartebeests 
Neuman's  hartebeests 
Chandler's  reedbuck 
Bohur  reedbuck 
Beisa  oryx 
Fringe-eared  oryx 
Duiker 

Harvey's  duiker 
Greater  kudu 
Lesser  kudu 
Sable  antelope 
Impalla 


GAME    BIRDS    COLLECTED 


Marabout 
Egret 
Glossy  ibis 
Egyptian  goose 
White  goose 
English  snipe 
Mallard  duck 
Total,  r-venty-two  kinds 


Gadwall 
European  stork 
Quail 

Sand  grouse 
Francolin 
Spur  fowl 
Greater  bustard 


Lesser  bustard 
Guinea  fowl 
Giant  guinea  fowl 
Green  pigeon 
Blue  pigeon 
Dove  (2  species) 


409 


APPENDIX  III 

For  the  benefit  of  the  sportsman  and  gun  crank 
who  want  plain  facts  and  no  flapdoodle,  the  follow- 
ing statistics  are  offered.  To  the  lay  reader  this 
inclusion  will  be  incomprehensible;  but  I  know  my 
gun  crank  —  I  am  one  myself! 

ARMS 

Army  Springfield,  model  1903  to  take  the  1906 
cartridge,  shooting  the  Spitzer  sharp  point  bullet. 
Stocked  to  suit  me  by  Ludwig  Wundhammer,  and 
fitted  with  Sheard  gold  bead  front  sight  and  Lyman 
aperture  receiver  sight.  With  this  I  did  most  of 
my  shooting,  as  the  trajectory  was  remarkably  good, 
and  the  killing  power  remarkable.  Tried  out  both 
the  old-fashioned  soft  point  bullets  and  the  sharp 
Spitzer  bullets,  but  find  the  latter  far  the  more  ef- 
fective. In  fact  the  paralyzing  shock  given  by  the 
Spitzer  is  almost  beyond  belief.  African  animals 
are  notably  tenacious  of  life;  but  the  Springfield 
dropped  nearly  half  the  animals  dead  with  one  shot; 
a  most  unusual  record,  as  every  sportsman  will 

410 


APPENDIX 

recognize.  The  bullets  seemed  on  impact  always  to 
flatten  slightly  at  the  base  —  the  point  remaining 
intact  —  to  spin  widely  on  the  axis,  and  to  plunge 
off  at  an  angle.  This  action  of  course  depended  on 
the  high  velocity.  The  requisite  velocity,  however, 
seemed  to  keep  up  within  all  shooting  ranges.  A 
kongoni  I  killed  at  638  paces  (measured),  and  an- 
other at  566  paces  both  exhibited  this  action  of  the 
bullet.  I  mention  these  ranges  because  I  have  seen 
the  statement  in  print  that  the  remaining  velocity 
beyond  350  yards  would  not  be  sufficient  in  this 
arm  to  prevent  the  bullet  passing  through  cleanly. 
I  should  also  hasten  to  add  that  I  do  not  habitually 
shoot  at  game  at  the  above  ranges;  but  did  so  in 
these  two  instances  for  the  precise  purpose  of  testing 
the  arm.  Metal  fouling  did  not  bother  me  at  all, 
though  I  had  been  led  to  expect  trouble  from  it. 
The  weapon  was  always  cleaned  with  water  so  boil- 
ing hot  that  the  heat  of  the  barrel  dried  it.  When 
occasionally  flakes  of  metal  fouling  became  visible, 
a  Marble  brush  always  sufficed  to  remove  enough 
of  it.  It  was  my  habit  to  smear  the  bullets  with 
mobilubricant  before  placing  them  in  the  magazine. 
This  was  not  as  much  of  a  nuisance  as  it  sounds.  A 
small  tin  box  about  the  size  of  a  pill  box  lasted  me 
the  whole  trip;  and  only  once  did  I  completely 
empty  the  magazine  at  one  time.  On  my  return  I 

411 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

tested  the  rifle  very  thoroughly  for  accuracy.  In  spite 
of  careful  cleaning  the  barrel  was  in  several  places 
slightly  corroded.  For  this  the  climate  was  responsi- 
ble. The  few  small  pittings,  however,  did  not  seem  in 
any  way  to  have  affected  the  accuracy,  as  the  rifle 
shot  the  following  groups:  3!  inches  at  200  yards; 
7j  inches  at  300  yards;  and  iif  inches  at  500  yards.* 

These  groups  were  not  made  from  a  machine  rest, 
however;  as  none  was  available.  The  complete 
record  with  this  arm  for  my  whole  stay  in  Africa 
was  307  hits  out  of  395  cartridges  fired,  representing 
185  head  of  game  killed.  Most  of  this  shooting  was 
for  meat  and  represented  also  all  sorts  of  "var- 
mints" as  well. 

The  405  Winchester:  This  weapon  was  sighted 
like  the  Springfield,  and  was  constantly  in  the 
field  as  my  second  gun.  For  lions  it  could  not 
be  beaten;  as  it  was  very  accurate,  delivered  a  hard 
blow,  and  held  five  cartridges.  Beyond  125  to  150 
yards  one  had  to  begin  to  guess  at  distance,  so  for 
ordinary  shooting  I  preferred  the  Springfield.  In 
thick  brush  country,  however,  where  one  was  likely 
to  come  suddenly  on  rhinoceroes,  but  where  one 
wanted  to  be  ready  always  for  desirable  smaller 
game,  the  Winchester  was  just  the  thing.  It  was 

*It  shot  one  five-shot  if -inch  group  at  200  yds.,  and  several  others  at  all 
distances  less  than  the  figures  given,  but  I  am  convinced  these  must  have  been 
largely  accidental. 

412 


APPENDIX 

short,  handy,  and  reliable.  One  experience  with  a 
zebra  300-350  yards  has  made  me  question  whether 
at  long  (hunting)  ranges  the  remaining  velocity  of 
the  big  blunt  nosed  bullet  is  not  seriously  reduced; 
but  as  to  that  I  have  not  enough  data  for  a  final 
conclusion.  I  have  no  doubt,  however,  that  at 
such  ranges,  and  beyond,  the  little  Springfield  has 
more  shocking  power.  Of  course  at  closer  ranges  the 
Winchester  is  by  far  the  more  powerful.  I  killed  one 
rhinoceros  with  the  405,  one  buffalo  and  one  hippo; 
but  should  consider  it  too  light  for  an  emergency 
gun  against  the  larger  dangerous  animals,  such  as 
buffalo  and  rhinoceros.  If  one  has  time  for  extreme 
accuracy,  and  can  pick  the  shot,  it  is  plenty  big;  but 
I  refer  now  to  close  quarters  in  a  hurry.  I  had  no 
trouble  whatever  with  the  mechanism  of  this  arm; 
nor  have  I  ever  had  trouble  with  any  of  the  lever 
actions,  although  I  have  used  them  for  many  years. 
As  regards  speed  of  fire  the  controversy  between  the 
lever  and  bolt  action  advocates  seems  to  me  foolish 
in  the  extreme.  Either  action  can  be  fired  faster 
than  it  should  be  fired  in  the  presence  of  game.  It  is 
my  belief  that  any  man,  no  matter  how  practised 
or  how  cool,  can  stampede  himself  beyond  his  best 
accuracy  by  pumping  out  his  shots  too  rapidly- 
This  is  especially  true  in  the  face  of  charging  danger- 
ous game,  So  firmly  do  I  believe  this  that  J 

413 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER    , 

ally  take  the  rifle  from  my  shoulder  between  each 
shot.  Even  aimed  rapid  fire  is  of  no  great  value  as 
compared  with  better  aimed  slower  fire.  The  first 
bullet  delivers  to  an  animal's  nervous  system  about 
all  the  shock  it  can  absorb.  If  the  beast  is  not  there- 
by knocked  down  and  held  down,  subsequent  shots 
can  accomplish  that  desirable  result  only  by  reach- 
ing a  vital  spot  or  by  tearing  tissue.  As  an  example 
of  this  I  might  instance  a  waterbuck  into  which  I 
saw  my  companions  empty  five  heavy  465  and  double 
500  bullets  from  cordite  rifles  before  it  fell!  Thus 
if  the  game  gets  to  its  feet  after  the  first  shock,  it  is 
true  that  the  hunter  will  often  empty  into  it  six  or 
seven  more  bullets  without  apparent  result,  unless 
he  aims  carefully  for  a  centrally  vital  point.  It 
follows  that  therefore  a  second  shot  aimed  with 
enough  care  to  land  it  in  that  point  is  worth  a  lot 
more  than  a  half  dozen  delivered  in  three  or  four 
seconds  with  only  the  accuracy  necessary  to  group 
decently  at  very  short  range,  even  if  all  of  them  hit 
the  beast.  I  am  perfectly  aware  that  this  view  will 
probably  be  disputed;  but  it  is  the  result  of  con- 
siderable experience,  close  observation  and  real  in- 
terest in  the  game.  The  whole  record  of  the  Win- 
chester was  56  hits  out  of  70  cartridges  fired;  rep- 
resenting 27  head  of  game. 
The  463  Holland  &  Holland  cjouble  cordite  riflt. 

414 


APPENDIX 

This  beautiful  weapon,  built  and  balanced  like  a 
fine  hammerless  shotgun,  was  fitted  with  open  sights. 
It  was  of  course  essentially  a  close  range  emergency 
gun;  but  was  capable  of  accurate  work  at  a  distance. 
I  killed  one  buffalo  dead  with  it,  across  a  wide  canon, 
with  the  3OO-yard  leaf  up  on  the  back  sight.  Its 
game  list  however  was  limited  to  rhinoceroses,  hippo- 
potamuses, buffaloes  and  crocodiles.  The  recoil  in 
spite  of  its  weight  of  twelve  and  one  half  pounds, 
was  tremendous;  but  unnoticeable  when  I  was 
shooting  at  any  of  these  brutes.  Its  total  record 
was  31  cartridges  fired  with  29  hits  representing  13 
head  of  game. 

The  conditions  militating  against  marksmanship 
are  often  severe.  Hard  work  in  the  tropics  is  not 
the  most  steadying  regime  in  the  world,  and  outside 
a  man's  nerves,  he  is  often  bothered  by  queer  lights, 
and  the  effects  of  the  mirage  that  swirls  from  the 
sun-heated  plain.  The  ranges,  too,  are  rather  long. 
I  took  the  trouble  to  pace  out  about  every  kill,  and 
find  that  antelope  in  the  plains  averaged  245  yards; 
with  a  maximum  of  638  yards,  while  antelope  in 
covered  country  averaged  148  yards,  with  a  maxi- 
mum of  311. 


APPENDIX  IV 
THE  AMERICAN  IN  AFRICA 

IN   WHICH    HE    APPEARS    AS    DIFFERENT    FROM 
THE    ENGLISHMAN 

IT  IS  always  interesting  to  play  the  other  fellow's 
game  his  way,  and  then,  in  light  of  experience, 
to  see  wherein  our  way  and  his  way  modify  each  other. 

The  above  proposition  here  refers  to  camping. 
We  do  considerable  of  it  in  our  country,  especially 
in  our  North  and  West.  After  we  have  been  at  it 
for  some  time,  we  evolve  a  method  of  our  own.  The 
basis  of  that  method  is  to  do  without;  to  go  light. 
At  first  even  the  best  of  us  will  carry  too  much  plun- 
der, but  ten  years  of  philosophy  and  rainstorms, 
trails  and  trials,  will  bring  us  to  an  irreducible  mini- 
mum. A  party  of  three  will  get  along  with  two 
pack  horses,  say;  or,  on  a  harder  trip,  each  will 
carry  the  necessities  on  his  own  back.  To  take  just 
as  little  as  is  consistent  with  comfort  is  to  play  the 
game  skilfully.  Any  article  must  pay  in  use  for 
its  transportation. 

With  this  ideal  deeply  ingrained  by  the  test  of 
experience,  the  American  camper  is  appalled  by  the 

416 


APPENDIX 

caravan  his  British  cousins  consider  necessary  for  a 
trip  into  the  African  back  country.  His  said  cousin 
has,  perhaps,  very  kindly  offered  to  have  his  outfit 
ready  for  him  when  he  arrives.  He  does  arrive  to 
find  from  one  hundred  to  one  hundred  and  fifty  men 
gathered  as  his  personal  attendants. 

"Great  Scot!"  he  cries,  "I  want  to  go  camping; 
I  don't  want  to  invade  anybody's  territory.  Why 
the  army?" 

He  discovers  that  these  are  porters,  to  carry  his 
effects. 

"What  effects?"  he  demands,  bewildered.  As 
far  as  he  knows,  he  has  two  guns,  some  ammuni- 
tion, and  a  black  tin  box,  bought  in  London,  and 
half-filled  with  extra  clothes,  a  few  medicines,  a 
thermometer,  and  some  little  personal  knick-knacks. 
He  has  been  wondering  what  else  he  is  going  to  put 
in  to  keep  things  from  rattling  about.  Of  course  he 
expected  besides  these  to  take  along  a  little  plain 
grub,  and  some  blankets,  and  a  frying  pan  and 
kettle  or  so. 

The  English  friend  has  known  several  Americans, 
so  he  explains  patiently. 

"I  know  this  seems  foolish  to  you,"  he  says,  "but 
you  must  remember  you  are  under  the  equator  and 
you  must  do  things  differently  here.  As  long  as 
you  keep  fit  you  are  safe;  but  if  you  get  run  down  a 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

bit  you'll  go.  YouVe  got  to  do  yourself  well,  down 
here,  rather  better  than  you  have  to  in  any  other 
climate.  You  need  all  the  comfort  you  can  get; 
and  you  want  to  save  yourself  all  you  can." 

This  has  a  reasonable  sound  and  the  American 
does  not  yet  know  the  game.  Recovering  from  his 
first  shock,  he  begins  to  look  things  over.  There  is 
a  double  tent,  folding  camp  chair,  folding  easy  chair, 
folding  table,  wash  basin,  bath  tub,  cot,  mosquito 
curtains,  clothes  hangers;  there  are  oil  lanterns,  oil 
carriers,  two  loads  of  mysterious  cooking  utensils 
and  cook  camp  stuff;  there  is  an  open  fly,  which  his 
friend  explains  is  his  dining  tent;  and  there  are  from 
a  dozen  to  twenty  boxes  standing  in  a  row,  each  with 
its  padlock.  "I  didn't  go  in  for  luxury,"  apologizes 
the  English  friend.  "Of  course  we  can  easily  add 
anything  you  want  but  I  remember  you  wrote  me 
that  you  wanted  to  travel  light." 

"What  are  those?"  our  American  inquires,  point- 
ing to  the  locked  boxes. 

He  learns  that  they  are  chop  boxes,  containing 
food  and  supplies.  At  this  he  rises  on  his  hind  legs 
and  paws  the  air. 

"Food!"  he  shrieks.  "Why,  man  alive,  I'm 
alone,  and  I  am  only  going  to  be  out  three  months! 
I  can  carry  all  I'll  ever  eat  in  three  months  in  on* 
of  those  boxes." 

418 


APPENDIX 

But  the  Englishman  patiently  explains.  You 
cannot  live  on  "bacon  and  beans"  in  this  country, 
so  to  speak.  You  must  do  yourself  rather  well,  you 
know,  to  keep  in  condition.  And  you  cannot  pack 
food  in  bags,  it  must  be  tinned.  And  then,  of  course, 
such  things  as  your  sparklet  siphons  and  lime  juice 
require  careful  packing  —  and  your  champagne. 

"Champagne,"  breathes  the  American  in  awe- 
stricken  tones. 

"Exactly,  dear  boy,  an  absolute  necessity.  After 
a  touch  of  sun  there's  nothing  picks  you  up  better 
than  a  mouthful  of  fizz.  It's  used  as  a  medicine, 
not  a  drink,  you  understand. 

The  American  reflects  again  that  this  is  the  other 
fellow's  game,  and  that  the  other  fellow  has  been 
playing  it  for  some  time,  and  that  he  ought  to  know. 
But  he  cannot  yet  see  why  the  one  hundred  and  fifty 
men.  Again  the  Englishman  explains.  There  is 
the  Headman  to  run  the  show.  Correct:  we  need 
him.  Then  there  are  four  askaris.  What  are  they? 
Native  soldiers.  No,  you  won't  be  fighting  any- 
thing; but  they  keep  the  men  going,  and  act  as  sort 
of  sub-foremen  in  bossing  the  complicated  work. 
Next  is  your  cook,  and  your  own  valet  and  that  of 
your  horse.  Also  your  two  gunbearers. 

"Hold  on!"  cries  our  friend.  "I  have  only  two 
guns,  and  I'm  going  to  carry  one  myself," 

419 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

But  this,  he  learns,  is  quite  impossible.  It  is 
never  done.  It  is  absolutely  necessary,  in  this  cli- 
mate, to  avoid  all  work. 

That  makes  how  many?  Ten  already:  and  there 
seem  to  be  three  tent  loads,  one  bed  load,  one  chair 
and  table  load,  one  lantern  load,  two  miscellaneous 
loads,  two  cook  loads,  one  personal  box,  and  fifteen 
chop  boxes  —  total  twenty-six,  plus  the  staff,  as 
above,  thirty-six.  Why  all  the  rest  of  the  army? 

Very  simple:  these  thirty-six  men  have,  according 
to  regulation,  seven  tents,  and  certain  personal  ef- 
fects, and  they  must  have  "potio"  or  a  ration  of  one 
and  a  half  pounds  per  diem.  These  things  must  be 
carried  by  more  men. 

"I  see,"  murmurs  the  American,  crushed,  "and 
these  more  men  have  more  tents  and  more  potio, 
which  must  also  be  carried.  It's  like  the  House 
that  Jack  Built." 

So  our  American  concludes  still  once  again  that 
the  other  fellow  knows  his  own  game,  and  starts  out. 
He  learns  he  has  what  is  called  a  "modest  safari"; 
and  spares  a  fleeting  wonder  as  to  what  a  really  elab- 
orate safari  must  be.  The  procession  takes  the 
field.  He  soon  sees  the  value  of  the  four  askaris  — 
the  necessity  of  whom  he  has  secretly  doubted. 
Without  their  vigorous  seconding  the  headman 
would  have  a  hard  time  indeed.  Also,  when  he  ob- 

420 


APPENDIX 

serves  the  labour  of  tent-making,  packing,  washing, 
and  general  service  performed  by  his  tent  boy,  he 
abandons  the  notion  that  that  individual  could  just 
as  well  take  care  of  the  horse  as  well,  especially  as 
the  horse  has  to  have  all  his  grass  cut  and  brought  to 
him.  At  evening  our  friend  has  a  hot  bath,  a  long 
cool  fizzly  drink  of  lime  juice  and  soda;  he  puts  on 
the  clean  clothes  laid  out  for  him,  assumes  soft  mos- 
quito boots,  and  sits  down  to  dinner.  This  is 
served  to  him  in  courses,  and  on  enamel  ware.  Each 
course  has  its  proper-sized  plate  and  cutlery.  He 
s  carts  with  soup,  goes  down  through  tinned  white- 
bait or  other  fish,  an  entree,  a  roast,  perhaps  a 
curry,  a  sweet,  and  small  coffee.  He  is  certain- 
ly being  "done  well,"  and  he  enjoys  the  comfort 
of  it. 

There  comes  a  time  when  he  begins  to  wonder  a 
little.  It  is  all  very  pleasant,  of  course,  and  perhaps 
very  necessary;  they  all  tell  him  it  is.  But,  after  all, 
it  is  a  little  galling  to  the  average  man  to  think  that 
it  requires  a  hundred  and  fifty  men  to  take  care  of 
him.  Your  Englishman  doesn't  mind  that;  he  en- 
joys being  taken  care  of:  but  the  sportsman  of  Amer- 
ican training  likes  to  stand  on  his  own  feet  as  far  as 
he  is  able  and  conditions  permit.  Besides,  it  is  ex- 
pensive. Besides  that,  it  is  a  confounded  nuisance, 
especially  when  potio  gives  out  and  more  must  be 

421 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

sought,  near  or  far.     Then,  if  he  is  wise,  he  begins 
to  do  a  little  figuring  on  his  own  account. 

My  experience  was  very  much  as  above.  Three 
of  us  went  out  for  eleven  weeks  with  what  was  con- 
sidered a  very  "modest"  safari  indeed.  It  com- 
prised one  hundred  and  eighteen  men.  My  fifth  and 
last  trip,  also  with  two  companions,  was  for  three 
months.  Our  personnel  consisted,  all  told,  of  forty 
men. 

In  essentials  the  Englishman  is  absolutely  right. 
One  cannot  camp  in  Africa  as  one  would  at  home. 
The  experimenter  would  be  dead  in  a  month.  In 
his  application  of  that  principle,  however,  he  seems 
to  the  American  point  of  view  to  overshoot.  Let 
us  examine  his  proposition  in  terms  of  the  basic 
essentials  —  food,  clothing,  shelter.  There  is  no 
doubt  but  that  a  man  must  keep  in  top  condition 
as  far  as  possible;  and  that,  to  do  so,  he  must  have 
plenty  of  good  food.  He  can  never  do  as  we  do  on 
very  hard  trips  at  home:  take  a  little  tea,  sugar,  cof- 
fee, flour,  salt,  oatmeal.  But  on  the  other  hand,  he 
certainly  does  not  need  a  five-course  dinner  every 
night,  nor  a  complete  battery  of  cutlery,  napery  and 
table  ware  to  eat  it  from.  Flour,  sugar,  oatmeal,  tea 
and  coffee,  rice,  beans,  onions,  curry,  dried  fruits, 
a  little  bacon,  and  some  dehydrated  vegetables  will 
do  him  very  well  indeed  —  with  what  he  can  shoot./ 

422 


APPENDIX 

These  will  pack  in  waterproof  bags  very  comfort- 
ably. In  addition  to  feeding  himself  well,  he  finds 
he  must  not  sleep  next  to  the  ground,  he  must  have 
a  hot  bath  every  day,  but  never  a  cold  one,  and  he 
must  shelter  himself  with  a  double  tent  against  the 
sun. 

Those  are  the  absolute  necessities  of  the  climate. 
In  other  words,  if  he  carries  a  double  tent,  a  cot,  a 
folding  bath,  and  gives  a  little  attention  to  a  prop- 
erly balanced  food  supply,  he  has  met  the  situation. 

If,  in  addition,  he  takes  canned  goods,  soda  si- 
phons, lime  juice,  easy  chairs  and  all  the  rest  of  the 
paraphernalia,  he  is  merely  using  a  basic  principle 
as  an  excuse  to  include  sheer  luxuries.  In  further 
extenuation  of  this  he  is  apt  to  argue  that  porters 
are  cheap,  and  that  it  costs  but  little  more  to  carry 
these  extra  comforts.  Against  this  argument,  of 
course,  I  have  nothing  to  say.  It  is  the  inalien- 
able right  of  every  man  to  carry  all  the  luxuries  he 
wants.  My  point  is  that  the  average  American 
sportsman  does  not  want  them,  and  only  takes  them 
because  he  is  overpersuaded  that  these  things  are 
not  luxuries,  but  necessities.  For,  mark  you,  he 
could  take  the  same  things  into  the  Sierras  or  the 
North  —  by  paying;  but  he  doesn't. 

I  repeat,  it  is  the  inalienable  right  of  any  man  to 
travel  as  luxuriously  as  he  pleases.  But  by  the 

423 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

same  token  it  is  not  his  right  to  pretend  that  lux- 
uries are  necessities.  That  is  to  put  himself  into 
the  same  category  with  the  man  who  always  finds 
some  other  excuse  for  taking  a  drink  than  the  simple 
one  that  he  wants  it. 

The  Englishman's  point  of  view  is  that  he  objects 
to  "pigging  it,"  as  he  says.  "Pigging  it"  means 
changing  your  home  habits  in  any  way.  If  you 
have  been  accustomed  to  eating  your  sardines  after 
a  meal,  and  somebody  offers  them  to  you  first,  that 
is  "pigging  it."  In  other  words,  as  nearly  as  I  can 
make  out,  "pigging  it"  does  not  so  much  mean  doing 
things  in  an  inadequate  fashion  as  doing  them  dif- 
ferently. Therefore,  the  Englishman  in  the  field 
likes  to  approximate  as  closely  as  may  be  his  life  in 
town,  even  if  it  takes  one  hundred  and  fifty  men 
to  do  it.  Which  reduces  the  "pigging  it"  argument 
to  an  attempt  at  condemnation  by  calling  names. 

The  American  temperament,  on  the  contrary, 
being  more  experimental  and  independent,  prefers 
to  build  anew  upon  its  essentials.  Where  the  Eng- 
lishman covers  the  situation  blanket-wise  with  his 
old  institutions,  the  American  prefers  to  construct 
new  institutions  on  the  necessities  of  the  case.  He 
objects  strongly  to  being  taken  care  of  too  com- 
pletely. He  objects  strongly  to  losing  the  keen 
enjoyment  of  overcoming  difficulties  and  enduring 

424 


APPENDIX 

hardships.  The  Englishman  by  habit  and  training 
has  no  such  objections.  He  likes  to  be  taken  care  of, 
financially,  personally,  and  everlastingly.  That  is 
his  ideal  of  life.  If  he  can  be  taken  care  of  better 
by  employing  three  hundred  porters  and  packing 
eight  tin  trunks  of  personal  effects  —  as  I  have  seen 
it  done  —  he  will  so  employ  and  take.  That  is 
all  right:  he  likes  it. 

But  the  American  does  not  like  it.  A  good  deal 
of  the  fun  for  him  is  in  going  light,  in  matching  him- 
self against  his  environment.  It  is  no  fun  to  him 
to  carry  his  complete  little  civilization  along  with 
him,  laboriously.  If  he  must  have  cotton  wool,  let 
it  be  as  little  cotton  wool  as  possible.  He  likes  to 
be  comfortable;  but  he  likes  to  be  comfortable  with 
the  minimum  of  means.  Striking  just  the  proper 
balance  somehow  adds  to  his  interest  in  the  game. 
And  how  he  does  object  to  that  ever-recurring 
thought  —  that  he  is  such  a  helpless  mollusc  that 
it  requires  a  small  regiment  to  get  him  safely  around 
the  country! 

Both  means  are  perfectly  legitimate,  of  course; 
and  neither  view  is  open  to  criticism.  All  either 
man  is  justified  in  saying  is  that  he,  personally, 
wouldn't  get  much  fun  out  of  doing  it  the  other  way. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  human  nature  generally  goes 
beyond  its  justifications  and  is  prone  to  criticise. 

425 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

The  Englishman  waxes  a  trifle  caustic  on  the  sub- 
ject of  "pigging  it";  and  the  American  indulges  in 
more  than  a  bit  of  sarcasm  on  the  subject  of  "being 
led  about  Africa  like  a  dog  on  a  string." 

By  some  such  roundabout  mental  process  as  the 
above  the  American  comes  to  the  conclusion  that 
he  need  not  necessarily  adopt  the  other  fellow's 
method  of  playing  this  game.  His  own  method 
needs  modification,  but  it  will  do.  He  ventures  to 
leave  out  the  tables  and  easy  chair,  takes  a  camp 
stool  and  eats  off  a  chop  box.  To  the  best  of  his 
belief  his  health  does  not  suffer  from  this.  He  gets 
on  with  a  camper's  allowance  of  plate,  cup  and  cut- 
lery, and  so  cuts  out  a  load  and  a  half  of  assorted 
kitchen  utensils  and  table  ware.  He  even  does  with- 
out a  tablecloth  and  napkins!  He  discards  the 
lime  juice  and  siphons,  and  purchases  a  canvas 
evaporation  bag  to  cool  the  water.  He  fires  one 
gunbearer,  and  undertakes  the  formidable  phys- 
ical feat  of  carrying  one  of  his  rifles  himself.  And, 
above  all,  he  modifies  that  grub  list.  The  purchase 
of  waterproof  bags  gets  rid  of  a  lot  of  tin:  the  staple 
groceries  do  quite  as  well  as  London  fancy  stuff. 
Golden  syrup  takes  the  place  of  all  the  miscella- 
neous jams,  marmalades  and  other  sweets.  The 
canned  goods  go  by  the  board.  He  lays  in  a  stock 
of  dried  fruit.  At  the  end,  he  is  possessed  of  a  grub 

426 


APPENDIX 

list  but  little  different  from  that  of  his  Rocky  Moun- 
tain trips.  Some  few  items  he  has  cut  down;  and 
some  he  has  substituted;  but  bulk  and  weight  are 
the  same.  For  his  three  months'  trip  he  has  four  or 
five  chop  boxes  all  told. 

And  then  suddenly  he  finds  that  thus  he  has  made 
a  reduction  all  along  the  line.  Tent  load,  two  men; 
grub  and  kitchen,  five  men;  personal,  one  man;  bed, 
one  man;  miscellaneous,  one  or  two.  There  is  now 
no  need  for  headmen  and  askaris  to  handle  this 
little  lot.  Twenty  more  to  carry  food  for  the  men 
—  he  is  off  with  a  quarter  the  number  of  his  first 
"modest  safari." 

You  who  are  sportsmen  and  are  not  going  to 
Africa,  as  is  the  case  with  most,  will  perhaps  read 
this,  because  we  are  always  interested  in  how  the 
other  fellow  does  it.  To  the  few  who  are  intending 
an  exploration  of  the  dark  continent  this  concen- 
tration of  a  year's  experience  may  be  valuable. 
Remember  to  sleep  off  the  ground,  not  to  starve 
yourself,  to  protect  yourself  from  the  sun,  to  let 
negroes  do  all  hard  work  but  marching  and  hunting. 
Do  these  things  your  own  way,  using  your  common- 
sense  on  how  to  get  at  it.  You'll  be  all  right. 

That,  I  conceive,  covers  the  case.  The  remainder 
of  your  equipment  has  to  do  with  camp  affairs,  and 
merely  needs  listing.  The  question  here  is  not  of 

427 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

the  sort  to  get,  but  of  what  to  take.  The  tents, 
cooking  affairs,  etc.,  are  well  adapted  to  the  coun- 
try. In  selecting  your  tent,  however,  you  will  do 
very  well  to  pick  out  one  whose  veranda  fly  reaches 
fairly  to  the  ground,  instead  of  stopping  halfway. 

I  tent  and  ground  sheet 

I  folding  cot  and  cork  mattress 

I  pillow,  3  single  blankets 

i  combined  folding  bath  and  washstand  ("X"  brand) 

I  camp  stool 

3  folding  candle  lanterns 

1  gallon  turpentine 

3olbs  alum 

1  river  rope 

Sail  needles  and  twine 

3  pangas  (native  tools  for  chopping  and  digging) 

Cook  outfit  (select  these  yourself,  and  cut  out  the  extras) 

2  axes  (small) 
Plenty  laundry  soap 
Evaporation  bag 

2  pails 

10  yards  cotton  cloth  ("Mericani") 

These  things,  your  food,  your  porters*  outfits  and 
what  trade  goods  you  may  need  are  quite  sufficient. 
You  will  have  all  you  want,  and  not  too  much.  If 
you  take  care  of  yourself,  you  ought  to  keep  in  good 
health.  Your  small  outfit  permits  greater  mo- 
bility than  does  that  of  the  English  cousin,  infinitely 
less  nuisance  and  expense.  Furthermore,  you  feel 
that  once  more  you  are  "next  to  things,"  instead  of 
"being  led  about  Africa  like  a  dog  on  a  string." 

428 


APPENDIX  V 
THE  AMERICAN  IN  AFRICA 

WHAT    HE    SHOULD    TAKE 

BEFORE  going  to  Africa  I  read  as  many  books  as  I 
could  get  hold  of  on  the  subject,  some  of  them  by 
Americans.  In  every  case  the  authors  have  given 
a  chapter  detailing  the  necessary  outfit.  Invari- 
ably they  have  followed  the  Englishman's  ideas  al- 
most absolutely.  Nobody  has  ventured  to  modify 
those  ideas  in  any  essential  manner.  Some  have 
deprecatingly  ventured  to  remark  that  it  is  as  well 
to  leave  out  the  tinned  caviare  —  if  you  do  not  like 
caviare;  but  that  is  as  far  as  they  care  to  go.  The 
lists  are  those  of  the  firms  who  make  a  business  of 
equipping  caravans.  The  heads  of  such  firms  are 
generally  old  African  travellers.  They  furnish  the 
equipment  their  customers  demand;  and  as  English 
sportsmen  generally  all  demand  the  same  thing, 
the  firms  end  by  issuing  a  printed  list  of  essentials 
for  shooting  parties  in  Africa,  including  caviare. 
Travellers  follow  the  lists  blindly,  and  later  copy 
them  verbatim  into  their  books.  Not  one  has 
thought  to  empty  out  the  whole  bag  of  tricks,  to 

439 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

examine  them  in  the  light  of  reason,  and  to  pick, 
out  what  a  man  of  American  habits,  as  contrasted 
to  one  of  English  habits,  would  like  to  have.  This 
cannot  be  done  a  priori;  it  requires  the  test  of  ex- 
perience to  determine  how  to  meet,  in  our  own  way 
the  unusual  demands  of  climate  and  conditions. 

And  please  note,  when  the  heads  of  these  equip- 
ment firms,  these  old  African  travellers,  take  the 
field  for  themselves,  they  pay  no  attention  whatever 
to  their  own  printed  lists  of  "essentials." 

Now,  premising  that  the  English  sportsman  has, 
by  many  years'  experience,  worked  out  just  what  he 
likes  to  take  into  the  field;  and  assuring  you  solemnly 
that  his  ideas  are  not  in  the  least  the  ideas  of  che 
American  sportsman,  let  us  see  if  we  cannot  do  some- 
thing for  ourselves. 

At  present  the  American  has  either  to  take  over  in 
toto  the  English  idea,  which  is  not  adapted  to  him, 
and  is  —  to  him  —  a  nuisance,  or  to  go  it  blind,  with- 
out experience  except  that  acquired  in  a  temperate 
climate,  which  is  dangerous.  I  am  not  going  to 
copy  out  the  English  list  again,  even  for  comparison. 
I  have  not  the  space;  and  if  curious  enough,  you  can 
find  it  in  any  book  on  modern  African  travel.  Of 
course  I  realize  well  that  few  Americans  go  to  Africa; 
but  I  also  realize  well  that  the  sportsman  is  a  crank, 
a  wild  and  eager  enthusiast  over  items  of  equipment 

430 


APPENDIX 

anywhere.  He  —  and  I  am  thinking  emphatically 
of  him  —  would  avidly  devour  the  details  of  the 
proper  outfit  for  the  gentle  art  of  hunting  the  to- 
tally extinct  whiffenpoof. 

Let  us  begin,  first  of  all,  with: 

Personal  Equipment  — •  Clothes.  On  the  top  of  your 
head  you  must  have  a  sun  helmet.  Get  it  of  cork, 
not  of  pith.  The  latter  has  a  habit  of  melting  unob- 
trusively about  your  ears  when  it  rains.  A  helmet 
in  brush  is  the  next  noisiest  thing  to  a  circus  band,  so 
it  is  always  well  to  have,  also,  a  double  terai.  This 
is  not  something  to  eat.  It  is  a  wide  felt  hat,  and 
then  another  wide  felt  hat  on  top  of  that.  The  ver- 
tical-rays-of-the-tropical-sun  (pronounced  as  one 
word  to  save  time  —  after  you  have  heard  and  said 
it  a  thousand  times)  are  supposed  to  get  tangled  and 
lost  somewhere  between  the  two  hats.  It  is  not, 
however,  a  good  contraption  to  go  in  all  day  when  the 
sun  is  strong. 

As  underwear  you  want  the  lightest  Jaeger  wool. 
Doesn't  sound  well  for  tropics,  but  it  is  an  essential. 
You  will  sweat  enough  anyway,  even  if  you  get  down 
to  a  brass  wire  costume  like  the  natives.  It  is 
when  you  stop  in  the  shade,  or  the  breeze,  or  the 
dusk  of  evening,  that  the  trouble  comes.  A  chill 
means  trouble,  sure.  Two  extra  suits  are  all  you 
want.  There  is  no  earthly  sense  in  bringing  more. 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

Your  tent  boy  washes  them  out  whenever  he  can 
lay  hands  on  them  —  it  is  one  of  his  harmless 
manias. 

Your  shirt  should  be  of  the  thinnest  brown  flan- 
nel. Leather  the  shoulders,  and  part  way  down 
the  upper  arm,  with  chamois.  This  is  to  protect 
your  precious  garment  against  the  thorns  when  you 
dive  through  them.  On  the  back  you  have  buttons 
sewed  wherewith  to  attach  a  spine  pad.  Before  I 
went  to  Africa  I  searched  eagerly  for  information  or 
illustration  of  a  spine  pad.  I  guessed  what  it  must 
be  for,  and  to  an  extent  what  it  must  be  like,  but 
all  writers  maintained  a  conservative  reticence  as 
to  the  thing  itself.  Here  is  the  first  authorized  de- 
scription. A  spine  pad  is  a  quilted  affair  in  con- 
sistency like  the  things  you  are  supposed  to  lift  hot 
flat-irons  with.  On  the  outside  it  is  brown  flannel, 
like  the  shirt;  on  the  inside  it  is  a  gaudy  orange  col- 
our. The  latter  is  not  for  aesthetic  effect,  but  to 
intercept  actinic  rays.  It  is  eight  or  ten  inches  wide, 
is  shaped  to  button  close  up  under  your  collar,  and 
extends  halfway  down  your  back.  In  addition  it 
is  well  to  wear  a  silk  handkerchief  around  the  neck; 
as  the  spine  and  back  of  the  head  seem  to  be  the  most 
vulnerable  to  the  sun. 

For  breeches,  suit  yourself  as  to  material.  It  will 
have  to  be  very  tough,  and  of  fast  colour.  The  best 

432 


APPENDIX 

cut  is  the  "semi-riding,"  loose  at  the  knees,  which 
should  be  well  faced  with  soft  leather,  both  for 
crawling,  and  to  save  the  cloth  in  grass  and  low 
brush.  One  pair  ought  to  last  four  months,  roughly 
speaking.  You  will  find  a  thin  pair  of  ordinary 
khaki  trousers  very  comfortable  as  a  change  for 
wear  about  camp.  In  passing  I  would  call  your 
attention  to  "shorts."  Shorts  are  loose,  bobbed  off 
khaki  breeches,  like  knee  drawers.  With  them  are 
worn  puttees  or  leather  leggings,  and  low  boots. 
The  knees  are  bare.  They  are  much  affected  by 
young  Englishmen.  I  observed  them  carefully  at 
every  opportunity,  and  my  private  opinion  is  that 
man  has  rarely  managed  to  invent  as  idiotically  un- 
fitted a  contraption  for  the  purpose  in  hand.  In  a 
country  teeming  with  poisonous  insects,  ticks,  fever- 
bearing  mosquitoes;  in  a  country  where  vegetation 
is  unusually  well  armed  with  thorns,  spines  and 
hooks,  mostly  poisonous;  in  a  country  where,  of- 
tener  than  in  any  other  a  man  is  called  upon  to  get 
down  on  his  hands  and  knees  and  crawl  a  few  as- 
sorted abrading  miles,  it  would  seem  an  obvious 
necessity  to  protect  one's  bare  skin  as  much  as  pos- 
sible. The  only  reason  given  for  these  astonishing 
garments  is  that  they  are  cooler  and  freer  to  walk  in. 
That  I  can  believe.  But  they  allow  ticks  and  other 
insects  to  crawl  up,  mosquitoes  to  bite,  thorns  to 

433 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

tear,  and  assorted  troubles  to  enter.  And  I  can 
vouch  by  experience  that  ordinary  breeches  are  not 
uncomfortably  hot  or  tight.  Indeed,  one  does  not 
get  especially  hot  in  the  legs  anyway.  I  noticed 
that  none  of  the  old-time  hunters  like  Cuninghame 
or  Judd  wore  shorts.  The  real  reason  is  not  that 
they  are  cool,  but  that  they  are  picturesque.  Com- 
mon belief  to  the  contrary,  your  average  practical, 
matter-of-fact  Englishman  loves  to  dress  up.  I 
knew  one  engaged  in  farming  —  picturesque  farm- 
ing —  in  our  own  West,  who  used  to  appear  at  after- 
noon tea  in  a  clean  suit  of  blue  overalls!  It  is  a 
harmless  amusement.  Our  own  youths  do  it,  also, 
substituting  chaps  for  shorts,  perhaps.  I  am  not 
criticising  the  spirit  in  them;  but  merely  trying  to 
keep  mistaken  shorts  off  you. 

For  leg  gear  I  found  that  nothing  could  beat  our 
American  combination  of  high-laced  boots  and 
heavy  knit  socks.  Leather  leggings  are  noisy,  and 
the  rolled  puttees  hot  and  binding.  Have  your 
boots  ten  or  twelve  inches  high,  with  a  flap  to  buckle 
over  the  tie  of  the  laces,  with  soles  of  the  mercury- 
impregnated  leather  called  "elk  hide,"  and  with 
small  Hungarian  hobs.  Your  tent  boy  will  grease 
these  every  day  with  "dubbin,"  of  which  you  want 
t  good  supply.  It  is  not  my  intention  to  offer  free 
advertisements  generally,  but  I  wore  one  pair  of 

434 


APPENDIX 

boots  all  the  time  I  was  in  Africa,  through  wet, 
heat,  and  long,  long  walking.  They  were  in  good 
condition  when  I  gave  them  away  finally,  and  had 
not  started  a  stitch.  They  were  made  by  that 
excellent  craftsman,  A.  A.  Cutter,  of  Eau  Claire, 
Wis.,  and  he  deserves  and  is  entirely  welcome  to  this 
puff.  Needless  to  remark,  I  have  received  no  espe- 
cial favours  from  Mr.  Cutter. 

Six  pairs  of  woollen  socks  —  knit  by  hand,  if  pos- 
sible —  will  be  enough.  For  evening,  when  you 
come  in,  I  know  nothing  better  than  a  pair  of  very 
high  moosehide  moccasins.  They  should,  however, 
be  provided  with  thin  soles  against  the  stray  thorn, 
and  should  reach  well  above  the  ankle  by  way  of 
defence  against  the  fever  mosquito.  That  festive 
insect  carries  on  a  surreptitious  guerrilla  warfare 
low  down.  The  English  "mosquito  boot"  is  simply 
an  affair  like  a  riding  boot,  made  of  suede  leather, 
with  thin  soles.  It  is  most  comfortable.  My  ob- 
jection is  that  it  is  unsubstantial  and  goes  to  pieces 
in  a  very  brief  time  even  under  ordinary  evening 
wear  about  camp. 

You  will  also  want  a  coat.  In  American  camping 
I  have  always  maintained  the  coat  is  a  useless  gar- 
ment. There  one  does  his  own  work  to  a  large  ex- 
tent. When  at  work  or  travel  the  coat  is  in  the 
way.  When  in  camp  the  sweater  or  buckskin  shirt 

435 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

is  handier,  and  more  easily  carried.  In  Africa, 
however,  where  the  other  fellow  does  most  of  the 
work,  a  coat  is  often  very  handy.  Do  not  make  the 
mistake  of  getting  an  unlined  light-weight  gar- 
ment. When  you  want  it  at  all,  you  want  it  warm 
and  substantial.  Stick  on  all  the  pockets  possible, 
and  have  them  button  securely. 

For  wet  weather  there  is  nothing  to  equal  a  long 
and  voluminous  cape.  Straps  crossing  the  chest 
and  around  the  waist  permit  one  to  throw  it  off  the 
shoulders  to  shoot.  It  covers  the  hands,  the  rifle 
—  most  of  the  little  horses  or  mules  one  gets  out 
there.  One  can  sleep  in  or  on  it,  and  it  is  a  most 
effective  garment  against  heavy  winds. 

One  suit  of  pajamas  is  enough,  considering  your 
tent  boys  commendable  mania  for  laundry  work. 
Add  handkerchiefs  and  you  are  fixed. 

You  will  wear  most  of  the  above,  and  put  what 
remains  in  your  "officer's  box."  This  is  a  thin 
steel,  air-tight  affair  with  a  wooden  bottom,  and  is 
the  ticket  for  African  work. 

Sporting.  Pick  out  your  guns  to  suit  yourself. 
You  want  a  light  one  and  a  heavy  one. 

When  I  came  to  send  out  my  ammunition,  I  was 
forced  again  to  take  the  other  fellow's  experience. 
I  was  told  by  everybody  that  I  should  bring  plenty,^ 
that  it  was  better  to  have  too  much  than  too  little, 

436 


APPENDIX 

etc.  I  rather  thought  so  myself,  and  accordingly 
shipped  a  trifle  over  1,500  rounds  of  small  bore  car- 
tridges. Unfortunately,  I  never  got  into  the  field 
with  any  of  my  numerous  advisers  on  this  point,  so 
cannot  state  their  methods  from  first-hand  infor- 
mation. Inductive  reasoning  leads  me  to  believe 
that  they  consider  it  unsportsmanlike  to  shoot  at 
a  standing  animal  at  all,  or  at  one  running  nearer 
than  250  yards.  Furthermore,  it  is  etiquette  to 
continue  firing  until  the  last  cloud  of  dust  has  died 
down  on  the  distant  horizon.  Only  thus  can  I 
conceive  of  getting  rid  of  that  amount  of  ammuni- 
tion. In  eight  months  of  steady  shooting,  for  ex- 
ample —  shooting  for  trophies,  as  well  as  to  feed  a 
safari  of  fluctuating  numbers,  counting  jackals, 
marabout  and  such  small  trash  —  I  got  away  with 
395  rounds  of  small  bore  ammunition  and  about 
loo  of  large.  This  accounted  for  225  kills.  That 
should  give  one  an  idea.  Figure  out  how  many 
animals  you  are  likely  to  want  for  any  purpose, 
multiply  by  three,  and  bring  that  many  cartridges. 
To  carry  these  cartridges  I  should  adopt  the  Eng- 
lish system  of  a  stout  leather  belt  on  which  you  slip 
various  sized  pockets  and  loops  to  suit  the  occasion. 
Each  unit  has  loops  for  ten  cartridges.  You  rarely 
want  more  than  that;  and  if  you  do,  your  gunbearer 
is  supplied.  In  addition  to  the  loops,  you  have 

437 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

leather  pockets  to  carry  your  watch,  your  money, 
youi  matches  and  tobacco,  your  compass  —  any- 
thing you  please.  They  are  handy  and  safe.  The 
tropical  climate  is  too  "sticky"  to  get  much  comfort, 
or  anything  else,  out  of  ordinary  pockets. 

In  addition,  you  supply  your  gunbearer  with  a 
cartridge  belt,  a  leather  or  canvas  carrying  bag, 
water  bottle  for  him  and  for  yourself,  a  sheath  knife 
and  a  whetstone.  In  the  bag  are  your  camera, 
tape  line,  the  whetstone,  field  cleaners  and  lunch. 
You  personally  carry  your  field  glasses,  sun  glasses, 
a  knife,  compass,  matches,  police  whistle  and  note- 
book. The  field  glasses  should  not  be  more  than 
six  power;  and  if  possible  you  should  get  the  sort 
with  detachable  prisms.  The  prisms  are  apt  to 
cloud  in  a  tropical  climate,  and  the  non-detachable 
sort  are  almost  impossible  for  a  layman  to  clean. 
Hang  these  glasses  around  your  neck  by  a  strap 
only  just  long  enough  to  permit  you  to  raise  them 
to  your  eyes.  The  best  notebook  is  the  "loose- 
leaf"  sort.  By  means  of  this  you  can  keep  always 
a  fresh  leaf  on  top;  and  at  night  can  transfer  your 
day's  notes  to  safe  keeping  in  your  tin  box.  The 
sun  glasses  should  not  be  smoked  or  dark  —  you 
can  do  nothing  with  them  —  but  of  the  new  am- 
berol,  the  sort  that  excludes  the  ultra-violet  rays, 
but  otherwise  makes  the  world  brighter  and  gayer. 

43* 


APPENDIX 

Spectacle  frames  of  non-corrosive  white  metal,  not 
steel,  are  the  proper  sort. 

To  clean  your  guns  you  must  supply  plenty  of 
oil,  and  then  some  more.  The  East  African  gun- 
bearer  has  a  quite  proper  and  gratifying,  but  most 
astonishing  horror  for  a  suspicion  of  rust;  and  to 
use  oil  any  faster  he  would  have  to  drink  it. 

Other  Equipment.  All  this  has  taken  much  time 
to  tell  about,  it  has  not  done  much  toward  filling 
up  that  tin  box.  Dump  in  your  toilet  effects  and 
a  bath  towel,  two  or  three  scalpels  for  taxidermy,  a 
ball  of  string,  some  safety-pins,  a  small  tool  kit, 
sewing  materials,  a  flask  of  brandy,  kodak  films 
packed  in  tin,  a  boxed  thermometer,  an  aneroid 
(if  you  are  curious  as  to  elevations),  journal,  tags 
for  labelling  trophies,  a  few  yards  of  gun  cloth,  and 
the  medicine  kit. 

The  latter  divides  into  two  classes:  for  your  men 
and  for  yourself.  The  men  will  suffer  from  certain 
well  defined  troubles:  "tumbo,"or  overeating;  diar- 
rhoea, bronchial  colds,  fever  and  various  small  injuries. 
For  "tumbo"  you  want  a  liberal  supply  of  Epsom's 
salts;  for  diarrhoea  you  need  chlorodyne;  any  good  ex- 
pectorant for  the  colds;  quinine  for  the  fever;  per- 
manganate and  plenty  of  bandages  for  the  injuries. 
With  this  lot  you  can  do  wonders.  For  yourself 
you  need,  or  may  need,  in  addition,  a  more  elabo- 

439 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

rate  lot:  Laxative,  quinine,  phenacetin,  bismuth 
and  soda,  bromide  of  ammonium,  morphia,  camphor- 
ice,  and  asperin.  A  clinical  thermometer  for  whites 
and  one  for  blacks  should  be  included.  A  tin  of 
malted  milk  is  not  a  bad  thing  to  take  as  an  emer- 
gency ration  after  fever. 

By  this  time  your  tin  box  is  fairly  well  provided. 
You  may  turn  to  general  supplies. 


THE  END 


440 


•JH1  COUNTRY  LIFI    PRISS 
GARDEN  CITY,  N.  T. 


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